


Fairest

by MaidenMotherCrone



Series: The Fairest Saga [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Cunnilingus, Domestic Violence, F/M, Game of Thrones-esque, Harry is Daenerys, Harry is a Little Shit, Hermione is a badass, How Do I Tag, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Inspired by Game of Thrones, LOTS of violence, M/M, Rimming, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, eventually, everyone is a badass, ron is a badass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-07 02:49:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 123,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11614332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaidenMotherCrone/pseuds/MaidenMotherCrone
Summary: In a world called Albion, there were four rulers; fair and just. That fairy tale is over; a new one begins.Harry Potter is an orphan-boy, wandering through the world alone, ignorant of the power that dwells deep within him. But, when the Dark Lord arrives to rip his heart out for the Queen, he learns that he is the rightful heir of a kingdom lost.





	1. Prologue

The black marble floors were run through with veins of silver. It was cold beneath her feet, like black sheets of ice. The strength of the wind raddled the panes of glass set into the French doors of the balcony. It was the night—the perfect night. Magic was not silent when it descended upon kingdoms.

No, Magic knocked.

And it had to be let in.

She crossed the bedroom floor—ice, black sheets of ice—and long, elegant fingers turned the knob. The door swung crashed open with a heavy clatter and the wind—the Magic—whipped around her. But, the silk nightgown and her thick sheet of black hair was undisturbed. No, the wind crawled down her spine, made her nipples harden underneath the thin fabric, creating peaks. She shuddered with pleasure.

“Welcome, friend,” she breathed in greeting.

The air whistled back, kissing her cheeks rosy red. Slowly, she shut the door again and stared past the frosty glass into the dark night.

The sky did not sparkle with a million stars—those were nights when fairytales were born. This was the night of nightmares, of Magic-personified.

She pulled the heavy velvet curtains shut, harsher than necessary. The woman turned and walked towards her bed, the slit up the black skirt revealing the long wand strapped to her alabaster thigh. She fell onto her bed, sitting at the very edge, long hair pooling in her lap. The woman pulled the wand free and twisted it through the air, pulling and tugging at something.

The entire room, from the ash-colored wallpaper to the black marble floors, twisted and inverted, shifting into something else. There was a loud crack and the floor parted like the sea. The black marble melted into a spiral staircase, leading down in the deep, dark unknown.

The woman smiled, sliding her wand back into the thigh holster and began her descent, all dark grace, as she had a hundred times before. As she made her way down the steps, the marble slotted together with a slam, throwing her into the darkness. The woman did not mind.

She knew the way.

As she drew closer to the bottom, she could see the pale fluttering light of the eternal torch that marked the end. Her violet eyes brightened with obsessive madness. The madness disappeared when she entered the simple room.

The circular room was of roughly cut grey stone, pushed together rather clumsily by magic in her youth. Against the curved wall to the left was a dark wooden table, a bubbling cauldron resting atop it. Next to the cauldron was bust. The woman placed her wand beyond the bust and reached for the diadem, presented garishly atop of the bust of its former owner.

The woman smirked in amusement at her own twisted humour.

The head, the pretty little head, and the rest of the body rested in the ground now, beneath years of rot.

The woman could remember the body, skirts heavy from melted snow and chest ripped wide open, ribs cracked to reveal the empty cavity where the pretty girl’s should have been. She had died with a bloody smile on her face—that was one thing the woman could say about the pretty, irritating girl.

The pretty girl, with her pretty body and her pretty, pretty heart, had looked Death in the eye and smiled.

The woman lifted the diadem and placed it to her crown, atop thick, shining hair. Finally, _finally_ , she looked at the grand piece of her collection of stolen baubles, deep in the dungeons of her stolen palace.

The mirror was tall and narrow. The words atop looked to the common like simple gibberish.

_ERISED STRA EHRU OYT UBE CAFRU OYT ON WOHSI._

To the common witch or wizard, it would show only their ‘heart’s’ desire. But, the woman was no fool nor was she common.

With a guardian, the mirror took its true purpose and placed in the depths of Hogwarts Castle, it fed upon the ancient magic, its power amplifying.

For a long moment, the woman simply admired herself, staring at her curves wrapped in black silk, her long black hair, the glittering of the stolen diadem. Her amble bosom, exposed by the low neckline, her nipples peaking beneath the thin fabric from the chilly air. She stared at herself with heavy-lidded eyes and smiled, pleased. Her youth was coming along quite nicely.

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall…who is fairest of them all?”

The woman’s reflection rippled, revealing electric blue eyes, laden with grief and sorrow.

“You are the fairest. But there is another…” The old, wizened voice creaked from the mirror and the woman’s dangerous violet eyes narrowed, a sneer twisting her beautiful face.

“ _What_?” the woman hissed.

“Famed is thy beauty, my Queen, but one, sure to be lovelier, I see. More beautiful than thee. Dirt and smudge shall not hide strength in magic and grace. Alas, another is fairer inside and in face,” the rasping voice said and the woman heard that terrible thing called hope in between his words.

Rage stirred low in her belly, pitching her stomach in roll. She tasted the bile at the back of her tongue and spat at the mirror.

“The name, you fool!” she roared. “Show me the name and face of this creature!”

“You know that I cannot answer without a question.”

The woman spat again, spittle trailing down the glass. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall…reveal the name of the fairest of them all!” she snarled in fury.

The mirror rippled again.

The woman leaned forward, peering into the mirror’s image. Her lips parted in surprise as she stared at the young man, sitting in the middle of a field, leaning his face upon his palm as he tore the grass into shreds. And though he had a pair of ugly round glasses sitting on his nose, he was _beautiful_ , indeed.

“Red as rose. Black as ebony. White as snow, so to speak. Harry Potter is the one you seek.”

The woman glared at the image and she ran a sharp gleaming red nail along the curve of the young man’s face. The young man suddenly looked up, as if he had sensed her spying. He had such brilliant green eyes, the kind of green that reminded her of fresh leaves and grass and summer— _beauty_.

She glared and scraped her nails across the glass, distorting the image and banishing it from her. The electric blue eyes returned, staring at her. She spun around towards the bookcase, but did not move.

Did any of the books hold any answers for her?

“Ask the final question, my love.”

Dark crimson eyes stared at her from the shadows. She could not see that handsome face—not dark wavy hair nor his strong pale jaw, but he was there.

“Yes, brother,” she whispered. “Mirror, mirror, tell me this…how shall I return to former bliss?”

“Consume his heart and you shall live forever, Queen Bellatrix.”

Bellatrix’s eyes widened. So simple. And history repeated itself once more. She laughed. Her laugh, deep and guttural, chilled men to its bones and set their loins alight. This was something she knew, deep in her marrow, just as she had known what the answer would be. She had _known_.

For she had done it countless times before.

Queen Bellatrix of the Isles turned to her brother and stared at his dark crimson eyes. He stared at the mirror, and she could see his lips pull into a gleaming smile. That was all he was—blood eyes and white teeth.

And he whispered, “Well done, Mirror.”


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, this is super indulgent. I wrote something quite similar years ago on Fanfiction.net but, I took it down because I thought I was going to make it into original fiction. I underestimated how much of the lore was inspired by Game of Thrones and Harry Potter, and so, here we are.
> 
> I hope you enjoy my indulgement as much as I do.

Once upon a time, long before the tyrannical reign of the great and terrible Queen Bellatrix, there was a land called Albion. Previously a place of immense beauty and wonder and Magic, it had now been turned into a wasteland of destruction. The land had become slick with the blood of the fallen and silent as Death who had claimed the dead with his grey hands and empty eyes. Four rulers, their names long tabooed, lorded over the Four Corners of the land, all powerful sorcerers of unknown origins that seemed to have risen from the depths of Hell itself.

And in that fabled land called Albion, there had been four warriors who had claimed the four corners of the noble empire from these products of utmost evil, the Tabooed, after a devastating war of blood and tears, and had united it. The broken land once more became one by the four hands of these powerful wielders of Magic.

The four: a Lion, a Snake, a Badger, and an Eagle.

The Lion, a warrior of valour and strength, had a mane of fire and a temper to match. Despite his quick temper, he was good and fair. He ruled the south of the Empire with justice, and those who served him loved him. Brandishing his great sword of iron and jewel, he used his magic and strength to protect his subjects from the unwanted attentions of other countries that sought to seize the prosperous kingdom. He was Godric Gryffindor

The Snake, a man with a silver tongue and a quick cleverness, saw to the North with a strict, but not cruel, hand. Despite his dislike for the Muggles he ruled, he treated them with respect. He did not wield any weapons but for quick words and charming smiles. He did not visit the cold North, but he was sure that those that lived there were properly taken care of during the winter lunar cycles. His subjects, despite his detached behaviours, loved the Snake. This was Salazar Slytherin.

The Bear, with fur of honey and skin of milk, watched the West. Though she was not known for shrewdness or brute strength or powerful intellect, she was known for her hard-working personality and kind words. The enemies who had forgotten that she had once destroyed a great sorceress of profound skill considered her soft. Contrary to that belief, she was indeed strong and wise in her own way. Her blue eyes held hidden insight. When looking for advice, the citizens of the West knew where to go to find counsel. Though she never did marry, she viewed every citizen of the Isles as her own child, and thus she was referred to as the Mother. This was Helga Hufflepuff.

Last—but certainly not least—was the Eagle. The Eagle was known throughout the vast empire for a clear intellect that had been cultivated since youth. Dark eyes flickered with wisdom whenever she was faced with a problem that affected the East. Wisdom and intelligence reflected in every word she spoke. The Eagle was a practical woman, searching for rationality before all. Emotions were irrelevant, and the good of one was nothing compared to the greater good of them all. This was Rowena Ravenclaw.

The four Founders ruled as Kings and Queens, and they resided in the centre of Avalon in a castle that they had built upon sacred, ancient land and called it Hogwarts.

Salazar Slytherin was the first to find a Consort to rule beside him, with Rowena Ravenclaw is close second. Salazar’s first child was met with great celebration for the day symbolized the surprise birth of  _ two  _ heirs to the North.

On that day, Bellatrix—born to be a warrior—and Tom Marvolo were born, with Bellatrix clinging to his foot as the emerged wet from the womb.

Cherubic in their own right, with a thatch of black hair on both heads, Tom Marvolo sported crimson eyes and Bellatrix, lavender eyes, that opened for the first time at their blessing ceremony.

For years, the twins were told of their beauty and grew fond of the constant doting and fawning compliments. Bellatrix grew into a small beauty, with tumbling black curls and striking eyes that had darkened to violet with age. Tom Marvolo’s dark red eyes only emphasized the paleness of his face and his jaw grew sharper.

Even after the birth of two more sisters, Narcissa and Andromeda, both lovely in their own right, the twins were still the most beautiful. And in the kingdom of Albion, beauty was power.

Soon after the twins’ tenth birthday, Rowena gave birth to a girl. The child was just as beautiful as the twins and with every year, she grew more in beauty and grace. And as her beauty grew, so did the twins’ vengeful rage.

The young princess Helena was like a bird. Tom Marvolo always enjoyed birds—even birds with hair of ebony and eyes of cloud, for princess Helena had been born blind.

And still, anger and jealousy consumed the twins. Hatred hardened Bellatrix’s heart and consumed her in an  _ ugly  _ way.

The day that Bellatrix found the silver hair shattered her fragile and brittle mind and sealed Helena’s fate and her short life.

The two siblings ventured out to find the great mirror that could help them in their quest for eternal beauty and youth.

They found it in the country of Gringotts, the goblin country and the stole away with it and into the dark night they went with the mirror. They sealed a man into it to be guardian of their new treasure and they transferred it to a secret place that they had created together in the deep dark recesses of the castle.

On the day of Helena’s fifteenth year, the two siblings arranged for Narcissa and Andromeda to deliver the young woman to the edges of the Forbidden Forest, the woods that separated the South from the East. It ranged from the edge of the Hogwarts Castle grounds to the sea. Tom Marvolo, being the only man brave enough, ventured into the forest to commit the dark deed.

“Where are we going?” the blind bird had asked.

“We’re going to fetch your present,” Tom Marvolo answered honestly. He heard the soft gasp of delight from the sweet girl and he turned to look at her.

A bright grin adorned her face and a giggle reminiscent to the sound of iced chimes echoed through the deserted forest. “A  _ present _ ? For me?  _ I _ get a present, but when I get  _ you  _ one, you won’t even use it.”

Tom Marvolo looked away from Helena, a frown upon his face as he thought of how gullible she was. It was as if Rowena hadn’t cared enough to tell her daughter about the dangers in their world. At first glance, it may appear that they were protected more than most, but the populace was so wrong, so wrong to assume that the royals were safe.

They may be safe from _outsiders_ , but not from each _other_.

“Yes. We’re going to fetch a present for you. Helena, we’re almost there.”

His voice sounded hoarse and he frowned in confusion. Tom Marvolo didn’t understand when the fictional heroes lamented those actions that would bring pain to their loved ones but would be good for the world. He had never understood, and he still did not understand.

_ Bring me her heart. _

Bellatrix’s words echoed in his mind. His own words, a promise.

He looked up, expecting to be back in their little hideaway where their enchanted mirror rested. But, he only heard the caw of a crow. He glanced at his cousin, but Helena was undisturbed. Tom Marvolo felt rage fill his heart as he looked at the stupid girl who trusted too easily.

“We’re almost there,” Tom Marvolo whispered as he pulled the young girl along and ducked underneath more branches, pulling them aside so that he could bring Helena to the empty clearing that Tom Marvolo had found.

“Are we there, Tom Marvolo?”

“Yes.”

Helena’s face lit up with a smile and she waited for the voices of her loved ones. Her smile began to dim when there was only the rustling of dead leaves. Tom Marvolo stared at her with a blank expression and he took hold of Helena’s shoulders. Helena’s frown grew more dramatic when he simply held her.

“Tom Marvolo…what…what’s going on?” Helena whispered.

Tom Marvolo gave a grim smile. “We’re here, little bird. This is the end.”

He grabbed her wrist in a tightly hold and slowly pulled the ceremonial knife from its sheath. The sound of metal on metal caused Helena to stiffen in recognition.

And the prince Tom Marvolo slew her and cut open her chest with his body. He removed her heart, stole her diadem, and left her body, the snow stained red as his eyes.

Together, the twins did the Darkest of Magicks, and consumed her heart as Rowena wept her fallen daughter. No one suspected the twins of their dark deed and thus, they continued for many years, preying on little girls of the kingdom, ripping their hearts from broken ribcages and feasting on their youth.

Until.

_ (In fairy tales, there is always an ‘until’.) _

Until Godric had a young daughter whom was more beautiful at birth than Tom Marvolo, Bellatrix, and Helena all put together.

With eyes green as fresh grass and a mane made of fire, she was named after the fiercely colored flower, the tiger-lily, shortened to Lily. She had skin of fresh cream with a spatter of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Unlike Bellatrix, she was not absurdly tall though she did have some height and she was not thin but lean. Her beauty was bright and natural as the spring, and there was one thing more—

She was beautiful, inside and out, and beauty meant  _ power _ .

Her magic coiled in her belly, raging as a flame, and it showed in the way her muscles bunched together as she walked, staining the air with the scent of power and flowers.

Despite her tremendous temper and quick, mischievous ways, Lily Gryffindor was beloved by all of her future to the fury of her fellow heirs.

And with this, our story  _ truly  _ begins…

* * *

 

**MIRROR, MIRROR**

* * *

 

The young woman walked the edges of the Forbidden Forest, between the magical gates and the edges of the orchards. The fourteen-year-old stared curiously at the large black gates, her green eyes wide and inspecting. It was a tall, foreboding sight, the origin of many stories of caution that had come from both her mother and father.

She could practically feel her father’s eyes on her now, green eyes just like hers, full of warning as she reached out with a hand. She pulled it back tightly against her chest. It was as if Karina, her mother, was in her ear, hissing that she was far closer to the gates than she should be.

Princess Lily Gryffindor spun around and began to run back towards the orchards, her bare feet pounding on the ground. It was not because she was afraid, though. She was a  _ Gryffindor _ . She was not a coward and she wouldn’t let Bellatrix or Tom tease her as if she were.

She spotted her shoes at the base of the tallest tree in the orchard and reached up with practiced ease, pulling herself onto the long limb that had been supporting her weight since she’d learned how to climb trees.

She swung from branch to branch, her long auburn mane carefully wrapped around her arm, and landed heavily on the strong, familiar bough, then she stood, holding her arms aloft. She looked up through narrowed eyes at the stronghold that was her home.

Absently, Lily pulled free one of the teardrop-shaped golden fruits that hung low and bit into it, the juices sliding down her chin and leaving a sticky aftermath. Despite being mid-February, the trees were fruitful and the leaves were a crisp green. It had something to do with the sacred land that the castle had been built upon.

The First Emperor of old had been born there once, or so the stories said. He had been born at dawn and magic was most powerful at dawn’s birth and daybreak. They said the First Emperor, Merlin, had wielded a magic so powerful that everyone fell to their knees before him when he took his first step. But those were fairy stories, long forgotten and transcribed in tomes. Lily wasn’t much for fairy stories. She always suspected that they weren’t true at all. She didn’t believe unless she saw it with her eyes.

“What are you doing up there, Princess?”

Lily stiffened at the call. She stiffened as her gaze fell upon the young man, handsome with his toused black hair and mischievous hazel eyes. The young man stood in the battle robes of a Lord, the shield of his vassal lord and king, Gryffindor, on his breast.

“What are you doing, following me, James?” Lily huffed at the young Auror.

James grinned up at her, his head tilted in faux confusion. His grins always belied his purpose. He was here to bug and tease her, as per usual.

“I’m supposed to, aren’t I? King Godric told me to, so I’m doing exactly as he says. Someone has to keep you out of trouble, right?” James teased.

Lily glared, infuriated. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, as you well know. Unless you’d like me to hex you again,” Lily threatened, pulling hand free from the bodice of her robe and brandishing it dangerously.

James threw his hands up in surrender. “Let’s not be hasty, Princess!”

“Exactly, I’m not afraid to jinx you so hard that you’ll be puking slugs for years, James, so you’d best be—” Lily snapped.

“Threats aren’t exactly ladylike, are they, Lily?”

James and Lily jerked. Whenever Lily argued with James, it was if her world zeroed in on him. Lily looked at the group that had approached them, gliding over still grass, as she had threatened James. The twins had always unnerved Lily, with their deep, oddly coloured eyes, and how heavy their magic felt, suffocating and overwhelming.

“Well, I’m not particularly ladylike, Bellatrix,” Lily retorted.

Bellatrix smirked and exchanged a look of amusement with her brother. Lily surveyed the little band of followers. Andromeda called them the Death Eaters, and they were proud of the name that they had made for themselves in Albion. They were exclusive, sons and daughters of powerful and old families from the North. Everyone wanted to be them.

Lily hesitated as she looked at the youngest Death Eater—a greasy haired man with a long, hooked nose.

Even Severus had wanted to be one, and he had gotten his wish. Lily suspected that he was only a Death Eater because Tom wanted to see how she would react to him stealing her beloved friend.

“Are you sure?” Tom smirked. “You’re so  _ tame _ .”

Lily looked over at her handsome ‘cousin’, irritation straining every muscle.

“With all due respect, my Lord, it would not do to antagonize the future Queen of the South. Don’t you agree, Lady Bellatrix?” James asked, sharply.

Bellatrix’s eyes flashed at the reminder of her title. She could not assume the proper title of heir, not until her father picked between her and her brother.

“Quite,” Bellatrix sneered and she glanced over at her twin brother, affection heavy in her violet gaze.

“Yes, Bella?” Tom asked, patient, though he didn’t look back at his sister.

Lily wondered if he could sense her gaze. Perhaps it was some hidden magic that only twins shared. Lily would not know. They were the only set she had ever made acquaintance with.

“We were…  _ I _ was wondering if Lily would like to accompany our hunting party out into the Forest,” Bellatrix said with a sly smile.

Her attempt at innocence fell short. Lily doubted very much if there had ever been a time when Bellatrix was innocent. The woman bit her lip, rocking back and forth as she stared up at her brother with too-wide eyes. Bellatrix always held her eyes too wide, as if she were trying to see everything there was. Lily glanced at James. His hand had fallen to his hilt at Bellatrix’ suggestion, his eyes narrowed in concentration.

“You’re always ready for a fight, boy, aren’t you? You didn’t get that from your father,” Tom said.

“No. Only protecting the Princess. Princess Lily isn’t permitted even near the gate of the Forbidden Forest. I apologize but she must stay in the orchard. Perhaps if you get permission from King Godric,” James said, his voice missing the previous mischief and harsher in tone than was considered respectful.

Tom and James locked eyes and there was a battle between hazel and crimson. Tom didn’t drop his gaze. Whereas James had a fierce protective glare in his eyes, Tom’s was rather unemotional and shrouded by the color of blood. If there was one thing that bothered Lily the most about the two Slytherin twins, it was their ability to hide their emotions though Tom could do it better than Bellatrix.

“If you’re sure,” Tom said finally. He turned on his heel before curling his finger towards Severus.

Severus stepped forward, his expression vaguely disdainful at being beckoned like a dog, but when Tom leaned over to whisper something in the man’s ear, he gave a nod. James looked at the man in knowing distaste. Lily picked up her shoes slowly and startled when Tom and Bellatrix looked up sharply. She had barely made a noise of any sort. Their sharpness was strange, almost dangerous and Lily’s instincts were screaming at her to run.

In the Slytherins’ presence, Lily was no longer a predator as she had been raised. Her mother had always called her Lioness, just as her father was the Lion. But under the twins’ gazes, she was only prey, and right now, she was being hunted.

“I…I think Mother said to be back by now,” Lily stammered and she rushed forward when a hand wrapped around her arm, cutting off the circulation and she looked over at the crazy-eyed woman.

“I’ll walk back with you. I’ve changed my mind. Brother, you may go off on your hunt. I would like to walk back with ‘Cousin’,” Bellatrix said, slyly and Tom nodded once before casting a glance to the man that Lily knew was Bellatrix’s betrothed.

“Rodolphus, off with Bellatrix. Come, Severus, Lucius, we have a hunt to go on. I believe that the fool groundskeeper is keeping one of his creatures in our lands. We shall go slay it for sport,” Tom smirked, vindictively and Lily couldn’t help but think of Hagrid’s heartbroken face when he would discover that Tom planned to kill another of his pets.

The party of four walked in silence, Rodolphus flanking his betrothed and James flanking his Princess. Lily glanced over her shoulder at him and he gave her a weak smile that she couldn’t quite return. A hand settled itself on Lily’s shoulder and the young woman jumped as she turned to look at the older one. Bellatrix was smiling, her face holding an ageless beauty. Lily knew that Bellatrix and Tom were over thirty years older than her, but they certainly didn’t look it. They were already forty-six, full grown adults, but they appeared as if they were a few years older than she, six at the most. It was unsettling.

“How is your map coming along, James?” Bellatrix asked, something that sounded like interest in her voice. Lily stared up at her, startled.

Lily and James exchanged a look.

“How do you know about my map?” James asked, eyes narrowed.

“Oh, Sir James. Everyone knows about your map of the castle,” Bellatrix murmured. There was an edge in her voice as she gritted her teeth. They had reached the grand doors of the castle. “Do you have any other maps?”

“I do. We make maps of everything. And it’s going well. Thank you for asking,” James said somewhat sharply. Lily quickly slipped inside, ducking her head as she tried to rush up the stairs, James on her heels.

“You’re running awfully fast, Lily. Do you fear me?” Bellatrix asked. Her eyes were glittering and Lily felt her own eyes narrow.

Lily scurried into the castle and almost collided with her favorite ‘aunt’.

“Aunt Rowena,” Lily said, softly as she stared at the tall and wispy woman.

The dark woman had strands of silver growing from her temples and she looked exhausted but achieved a strained smile for her favorite ‘niece’.

“Hello, Tiger-lily. Sir James, Sir Rodolphus…Bellatrix,” Rowena said giving the woman a suspicious look and Bellatrix gave a dark smile that showed much too many teeth to be innocent.

The two women could be compared but there was something about them. While Rowena grew older and was still beautiful, Bellatrix retained her youth and beauty despite the fact that she was in her mid-forties and quickly approaching fifty.

“Aunt Rowena,” Bellatrix said, blandly though there was a hint of triumph in her voice and Rowena only glared at her further.

“What were you doing with Lily?”

“Only accompanying her back to the Castle. Tom is going on another hunt and I was to accompany him. The horses were waiting by the gate—”

“Horses?” Lily interrupted for she knew that the stable was closer to the castle and separated the orchards from the castle walls and she paled when Bellatrix gave her a silent snarl to stay silent and Rowena gave the two even looks.

“The thestrals,” Bellatrix said with a wicked grin before she turned back to Rowena.

“And then, I thought, why not accompany pretty little Tiger-lily?” Bellatrix continued and she gave a crazed little laugh before turning towards Lily and grabbing her by the chin.

Rowena took a step forward.

“Bellatrix…” Rowena said, warningly and Bellatrix glared at Rowena. Lily bit her lip before shoving Bellatrix’s hand away.

Both Rowena and Bellatrix looked surprise for a moment. Then Bellatrix gave her a dark smile.

“Happy almost fifteenth birthday. I do hope you won’t go the same way as Helene,” Bellatrix said, casting Rowena a smirk and parading away.

Rowena paled dramatically, taking a step back as the name long forbidden was spoken aloud. Bellatrix smirked and turned Rodolphus, drawing him up the stairs with amorous words and seductive looks.

“She…” James said and his voice quivered with hidden rage.

Rowena’s eyes flashed.

“Excuse me, Lily, Sir James. I must have a word with my fellow sovereigns,” Rowena said firmly and Lily watched as the woman stormed away, dark midnight robes billowing behind her as she walked.

Suddenly the woman stopped.

“Seer Trelawney shall be here in three hours time. Be prepared to greet her in a gown, dear Tiger-lily. The crimson and gold frock that Helga made for you. Your mother should be in your room, now,” Rowena said, softly and Lily nodded in agreement.

“Yes, Aunt Rowena.”

* * *

 

**ON THE WALL**

* * *

 

The silence throughout the hall was almost deafening. Lily squirmed. She had always hated silence. Quiet was different—quiet was when everything was muted but still very much there. Silence was damning. It was the end of everything, and it made Lily feel very much alone, even when she was surrounded by people.

She huffed in impatience and felt a calming hand wrap around her wrist. When her sharp green eyes looked up, they met calm hazel eyes that urged her to relax. Lily bit her lip and redirected her gaze to the closed doors and the expectant faces of the court. The grip around her wrist squeezed harder and Lily let out a slow sigh as she looked up into James’ eyes once more. He nodded firmly at her. She gave a slow nod back and took in a deep breath, holding it, and then finally letting go.

It relaxed her to a certain degree, but not much.

The other Marauders, Lily’s personal guard, was there too. But, the way Peter Pettigrew whimpered as the four sovereigns of Albion entered was not very reassuring.

Lily squirmed again, suffocating in the o dress that her mother had forced her into. The gold and crimson dress rantewas laced tight around her abdomen, so tight she could barely breathe, and the layers of skirts hindered all movement. The pearls dripping off the dress were so much that she felt gaudy. Her dark red hair had been weaved into braids and then twisted again into an enormous bun that weighed too heavy on the nape of her neck. Lily felt like an oversized fashion doll.

The Founders stood with power radiating from them. Even though they had aged, they were still very much the warriors who had spilled Tainted blood onto the grasses of the land, who had reunited four broken countries into the greatest empire that the world had ever seen. Lily felt immense pride that she could be heir to something that these four had created.

Her father, King Godric, sat down on his golden throne. He was freshly shaven for the event, something that Lily wasn’t used to. He preferred a healthy layer of stubble between his skin and the elements, he had once said when Lily was much younger. It had always made her laugh. His legendary sword had supposedly been infused with the blood of a dwarf, making it infallible. It reflected the light that shone through stain glass windows brilliantly. Godric’s ornate and golden crown glinted with rubies the colour of freshly spilled blood. He looked magnificent.

Lily turned her attention to the next throne as Queen Helga sat down in her high-backed chair of onyx, golden crown high on her dark honey hair. Her golden highlights matched her golden robes perfectly. She offered Lily a calm and reassuring smile. Helga alone seemed to realize that Lily was not excited to hear about her fate from the one that spoke for Fate, and that some reassurances would gladly be received by the young princess.

Queen Rowena sat down in a throne of solid bronze. She had been a handsome woman, once, and as fierce as she had been striking. Lily had seen portraits of her when the war had only just ended and they had just begun stabilizing the Empire. Now, however, she always looked tired, and her dark eyes flashed when they fell on the four snake-children.

Finally, King Salazar’s throne was silver and a silver crown sat upon his silver head. He looked every bit the distinguished Noble-turned-King that he was. Though he didn’t carry a weapon like Godric, his closest friend, Lily had heard stories that he had no need of one. His magic alone was weapon enough.

Lily could never understand how such a quiet, almost  _ nice _ man could have such cruel children, but she did not speak about it to anyone but her Guard. No one else understood the darkness that Lily saw in the snake-children anyway.

The four beautiful snake-children were staring at her. Lily blinked, realizing that she had labelled them with the foolish nickname James and his friend, Sirius, used. They thought they were a den of snakes, a juvenile story shared between children. They were no longer children. She almost snorted but then she realized how stupid that would look in front of everybody, especially on her birthday. Bellatrix and Tom already looked all too amused by her fidgeting.

At least, Bellatrix did. She was grinning that wide grotesque smile that sent shivers down Lily’s spine. No one else ever noticed how unnatural that smile was or the twisted nature of the darkness shrouding the Prince’s face, just as everyone appeared oblivious to the abnormal passiveness of Andromeda’s expression. Andromeda had once run away, when Lily had been ten. By the time Lily was ten and three, she had been dragged back, as if she had never left. It unnerved her. The calculating look in the eyes of Narcissa, with Lucius Malfoy standing just behind her with an arrogant smirk. It all unnerved Lily.

Only those who were closest to Lily seemed to understand, by which she did not mean her parents.

“Child of the Gryffindor Sovereign approach,” commanded the silver haired man standing right in front of the dais and his electric blue eyes twinkled.

Albus Dumbledore, the Whisper Lord, was a powerful wizard, one that had lived even before the Tabooed, and had battled them, helping Godric defeat the last of them in battle. He had not wanted any part of royalty, only wanted to serve. He was loyal. And he was grandfatherly. He a good, kind man, addicted to lemons of all sorts, in candy form or not. He was also not a fan of the Slytherin twins, and that marked a good man in Lily’s books.

Lily jolted when Remus, a werewolf and the estranged heir to Fenrir Greyback’s pack, pushed her forward. Lily walked slowly towards her father and his eyes gave a kind glint that reassured and warmed her. Lily gave a quirky grin and her father gave a little rumbling sound that sounded almost like a laugh that he stopped quickly when Salazar sent him a glare.

Lily turned to look at her mother before she shook herself and faced the unknown, unflinchingly and undoubtedly a Gryffindor.

“I present the Court Seer, Sybill Trelawney. Approach Seer,” announced Filch who stood at the door and announced everyone and Lily watched as a bug-eyed woman with large spectacles and dull brown robes.

As Sybill Trelawney emerged, the court fell in reverence to her, bowing. Lily was surprised when even the snake-children bowed. Trelawney paused before them and stared, blinking slowly, like a dull dog.

“Rise, Kingmaker,” she commanded.

Lily startled when Tom slowly stood from where he kneeled. Trelawney smiled and continued on. The rest of the court followed suit, a quiet murmuring filling the Great Hall.

Lily fought the urge to scowl.  Even on her birthday, it was all about a snake-child.

“Are you here, child?” Trelawney asked, reaching forward as she finally reached Lily. Her fingers brushed the cream of Lily’s cheeks.

Lily was too frozen to flinch away.

The Seer stood for a moment in absolute silence before she swiped her hand down in a smooth, graceful movement. Lily frowned as the Seer’s tongue flicked out, wetting dry lips. And then, the Seer turned to face Lily and stood, as if she could see her. Lily felt something crawl along her spine and she shook herself.

She was being unnecessarily fearful. She was a Gryffindor. Her father was First King Godric the Great Conqueror; her mother had been a Knight, an Auror in her own right. There was no reason to be afraid of a Seer.

“You... you are born of fire,” Trelawney whispered, and it was clear that she did not expect an answer.

Nonetheless, Lily nodded in confirmation. She was sure that her eyes reflected her fear and awe and she took a step backwards, her shoulder colliding with a hard chest. She looked up, finding hazel eyes. James stared down at her with a tight smile on his face and gave her a soft shove of encouragement. She glared at him, knowing it was expected of her, and the shadows on his face disappeared. James’ smile looked a little more natural than it had before.

“Child of Fire, come forward,” the woman said.

Lily was quick to obey the command, but she felt suddenly exposed, her back presented to all who watched, including the snake-children. She stood in front of the Seer, fear running throughout her body, and she shivered. And then suddenly, a light hand was on her shoulder and finally she felt safe. She felt safer than she had ever been even in James’ presence. It was as if something divine was watching over her now.

“I am Sybill Trelawney, Speaker of the Fates,” the woman declared.

Lily nodded slowly, not quite understanding what was occurring and she loathed how she had skipped out on her lessons about the ceremonies of Divination and those who represented the Fates.

“Greetings, your Holiness,” Lily whispered uncertainly. She ignored the mocking snort of one of the snake-children, though a slight smirk spread on her face as she heard Tom smacking one of the younger snake-children. It could not be said that Tom didn’t keep his siblings in line when it was required.

The Seer did not acknowledge her greeting, of course. Instead, she snatched Lily’s hand and examined the lines of her palm, tracing them with long, broken yellow nails.

“My dear girl…my poor dear girl…it is kinder…my dear girl, you have…the Grim.”

Lily raised an eyebrow as she remembered the meaning of the omen of the Grim. Sirius had the Animagus form of the Grim though most saw it as an enormous black dog and Lily couldn’t help but quirk a smile.

“I…thank you for letting me know of my little time,” Lily said, smiling and Trelawney gave her a bewildered look.

Lily looked around the Great Hall and saw many rolling their eyes at the cheap prediction. Lily wondered quickly whether Trelawney was a fraud or not. She didn’t quite understand why they was such a big deal and she looked back to ask Remus. The older boy held up a hand and pointed, discreetly, to Trelawney. Lily turned back around and was shocked to see that floating scrying bowl was in front of Trelawney now and she looked deadly serious now.

“May the coming-of-age woman approach the bowl and dip her wand,” Trelawney said in raspy voice and Lily blinked as she walked forward and pulled her wand from her sleeve.

Lily touched her wand towards the unnaturally still water and suddenly ripples spread from where her wand touched the surface of the water and then the water became black. Lily gasped and Trelawney began to seize. Everyone stared in horror though two hid vicious smirks behind masks of indifference.

The Seer’s head snapped forward, her glazed, glassy eyes suddenly focused. Her pupils were like pinpricks that suddenly yawned until the black overtook her eyes, so black that it reminded Lily of Death, true Death.

“ _ Child of Fire, Magick is strong in you _ ,” Trelawney said. “ _ But not strong enough _ .”

Lily’s terror solidified.

“ _ You... you who have been born of fire, snow, and jewel, born at summer’s death, shall fall _ ,” Trelawney declared, her voice rasping. “ _ You shall fall to the might of the coming winter and the day of ghost’s return. History shall be repeated in you, blood shall be spilled onto white, and a heart shall be stolen _ .”

The black water exploded in Lily’s face, going up her nose and filling her throat and lungs. Lily choked, writhing as the water soaked her front and her hair hairline.

Trelawney’s eyes rolled around her skull and she lifted her wand, pointing it at Godric. Godric looked stricken by his only daughter’s prophecy.

“Beware beauty. Fear it,” Trelawney warned.

And then her eyes rolled back into her head and she collapsed.

The collapse of the Seer was the final straw.

The Great Hall erupted into screams and Lily felt a hand clasp around her arm. Lily shrieked and immediately pulled her wand, shouting a hex before she could even think.

“ _ Impedimenta _ !” she hissed.

“ _ Protego _ !” James shouted, redirecting the curse. “Merlin, Lily! It’s just me. Come!”

Gasping for breath, Lily steadied as James grabbed her, holding her close, the rest of the Marauders closing rank around her. Godric rose from his throne and turned towards the other Founders, speaking quickly and quietly under the uproar of the court. James dragged her towards her father. Sirius, Remus, and Peter drew their wands, searching for the killers as if they would emerge from the stone.

“Father!” Lily shouted, throwing her arms out. Godric caught his only daughter and held her tight, kissing the top of her head over and over again. She barely paid mind to the snake-children as they approached.

“To the North Tower, my dear. You must go,” Godric whispered into her ear. “Before the court realizes that you have gone. Our enemies must be here. I will have Albus hatch a plan but, for now, you must go to your room so that we can figure out a plan.”

Lily trembled. “No! I must stay with you! I must—”

“Take her,” Godric commanded, ignoring her words and looking towards the Marauders.

James nodded, his hazel eyes hardened into amber. He reached out and pulled Lily tight to his body, ignoring her squirms.

“Yes, my Liege. We shan’t leave her side,” James swore and he Disapparated with a crack, leaving two furious twins in his wake.

* * *

 

**WHO IS FAIREST**

* * *

 

“Mother! Father! No!”

The shriek of defiance was laced with desperation and apprehension, but Karina stared at her daughter with narrowed eyes. Lily’s eyes were wide and full of indignation and fear, but Karina could not show how affected she was by the sight. The Queen Consort carefully hid her worry behind the same mask of indifference which her husband could not bear to put on.

“Don’t make me go! I won’t go!” Lily snarled boldly. Karina felt a sharp burst of pride at her daughter’s defiance, but even she knew that it was not the place for such things. She glanced at her husband.

Godric nodded. “Lily, you _ must  _ go. You are not safe here any longer. According to the Seer, you are being hunted. You will be killed. We do not want that. We love you too much. We don’t want what happened to Helene to happen to you.”

His voice was firm but it only sparked fury in Lily. The small teenager stomped her foot, immaturity in every line of her body as she shook her head, as if trying to rid it of the words that she had heard. Godric looked to James but he seemed too amused to be of much help in this situation. The King turned his attention back to his daughter, but she seemed to be attempting to burn holes into him.

And so he glared back. She was not cowed by his show of rage.

“I am capable of taking care of myself. I have magic. I know how to fight!” Lily snapped earnestly, and Karina snorted in amusement.

“Magic can’t solve all your problems, Lily.”

Lily’s eyes narrowed at her mother’s inadvertent condescension.

“You want me to go. You don’t care, as long as Father is safe,” Lily spat. Karina’s eyes widened at the bold accusation.

Lily watched her mother’s face. Hurt flashed in Karina’s eyes so quickly that she couldn’t tell if it was there or not, before being replaced with harshness. The elder woman crossed her arms as she regarded her daughter.

Godric’s eyes narrowed as he watched his daughter. “Do not speak to your mother like that, Lily. It’s—” Karina held up a hand, a peculiar smile on her face.

“No, Godric. It’s okay. Lily, your Father’s safety is priority, yes, but don’t think I don’t care. Don’t  _ ever  _ assume that”.

Lily crumpled at her mother’s words and she looked away.

“You being here will put you both in danger. I love you too much for that. You

must go. There’s...more of a danger than you know. So please go,” Karina whispered to her. The young woman shook her head, her eyes sliding shut tightly.

“Don’t make me.”

Lily had meant for it to come out aggressively, but she sounded like a child. Her mother’s arms simply tightened and Godric moved forward to envelop them both in a tight hug.

“We must,” Godric said, so apologetic.

Lily rubbed at her eyes, refusing to cry in anguish.

“Who is after me won’t stand a chance again me, you, Mother, the Marauders, Albus and Aunt Rowena and Aunt Helga and Uncle Salazar! They won’t!  _ Please _ , Father. Please,” Lily begged.

Godric looked away, turning his green eyes onto the darkness of the Forbidden Forest and Lily knew, then, that her fate was sealed. Lily looked at Albus, hidden in the shadows, desperation.

“James will take you to a hidden location. You will ride instead of Apparate. Apparation is more likely to leave magical traces. Albus has suggested the Fidelius Charm and we’ve agreed to such measures. We have selected a Secret Keeper,” Godric said. Lily looked at the grandfatherly man, utter betrayal on her face.

“Albus!” Lily whispered in despair. Albus looked away and Lily sneered. “Who, then? Who is my jailer?”

“Lily, I am, first and foremost, your king. Show me respect,” Godric growled at her, his patience ending. Lily looked down at her silk slippers, letting her crossed arms fall limply at her sides.

She cleared her throat. “Who, Father?” she asked, softer than before.

“Sir Sirius Black,” Albus provided.

Lily frowned and looked over at James. James scowled at the mention of his best friend’s name. She tried to catch his gaze but he kept his tawny eyes trained on the ground.

“Why Sirius? Why not James?” Lily asked.

Albus hummed. “He will be the last suspected of knowing your location. You are not close to him as you are to James.”

The two young people sputtered, cheeks flushing with hot, uncomfortable embarrassment.

Karina smiled as she continued to fold Lily’s simpler dresses—her adventure dresses, she had called them—and placed them into a trunk. Lily shook her head, slapping at her crimson cheeks, attempting to chase the flush away. James ran a nervous hand through his already messy hair. Godric and Albus exchanged looks of amusement.

“You’re...Father! Never! Close to  _ James _ ? James is an arrogant toerag,” Lily spat, immediately.

James looked at her, affronted.

“ _ Hurtful _ ,” he said, snippily, truly wounded by her words.

“Er...sorry,” she apologized, swiftly, turning back to her father. “Father, I’m in way close to James.”

Godric rolled his eyes. “On your day-birth, we shall celebrate, so as not to arouse suspicion. But, after, you will disappear at midnight. Albus will cast the Fidelius Charm the night before. Do you understand, my dear?” Godric asked, calmly.

Lily sighed, turning away from her father, staring out the window to the black gates that she had been curious about all her life. She had always wanted to adventure past them, but not this way. No, now she wanted nothing more than to stay trapped in Hogwarts Castle forever.

“Yes, Father. I understand.”

* * *

**OF THEM**

* * *

The gates of the Forbidden Forest loomed over Lily but, Lily didn’t quiver. She was a Gryffindor. Courage boiled in her blood. This was what she told herself even though the only light provided was the full moon hanging in the sky. This was what she chanted even as the Forbidden Forest gave an eerie glow and she could hear the faint howling of the werewolves. Lily could only hope that it was just Remus.

If it was Remus, that meant he was running with Sirius and Peter, and the Marauders would never allow harm to come to her.

“Lily, are you okay?” James murmured, rubbing his leather covered hands and breathing heavily through the night-chilled air.

“I-I’m fine,” Lily said through her teeth chattering. She lifted her wand, pointing it at the four heavy trunks.  _ “Reducio _ .”

She watched her trunks shrink to the size of her thumb and she swooped down, plucking them all up and dropping them into a small beaded purse. It had belonged to her mother in her youth. This would be the last thing Lily had of her mother, until she was safe.

James took Lily’s limp hand and squeeze tight, pulling her towards the purebred horse, saddled and ready.

Lily glanced back at the North Tower, a light emerging. That had been her home from the day she was born. Now, it was occupied by the sickly Seer that had damned her. The thought made her stomach churn. She could see the faintest shadow. Sirius was looking, keeping watch. Lily couldn’t see her Aunts and Uncle but, she could feel their overwhelming magic, oppressive and suffocating and still, so reassuring. Soon, she wouldn’t be able to feel them at all.

No one was powerful enough to stretch their magic across the kingdoms.

Karina and Godric stared at her, reluctant eyes but, full of resolve. Godric moved forward, grim, and he whipped a dark grey cloak around Lily’s shoulders, tucking her flaming beacon of hair into the hood, casting her into darkness. She did not look like herself; she could that in her mother’s eyes. Her simple blue and olive dress was too plain, her red hair too tamed, her usually bare feet tucked into practical brown leather riding boots. Lily was not herself.

“Princess, say goodbye,” James urged her.

Lily raised a hand, unable to move. Karina lunged forward, wrapping her arms in a tight hug, brushing kisses across her cheeks.

“My darling, tiger-lily. Helga will every fortnight with fresh food and stasis charms. Take care, my love,” Karina whispered and Lily nodded, hugging her mother just as fiercely.

Karina finally tore herself away and Lily looked at her father with haunted green eyes. She dropped into a low curtsey, missing the look of pain in Godric’s eyes.

“Why are you making me do this?” Lily whispered again.

“To protect you,” Godric promised. “This is not goodbye. I will see you again, my tiger-lily. I promise. I love you.”

“I love you too, Father,” Lily swore and when she turned back to James, he already sat astride the horse.

He held his hand out to her but, Lily ignored it, swinging herself up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her cheek between his shoulder blades. Godric lifted his wands and silently, the gates swung open. James made the tiniest sound and then they shot off.

The horse galloped into the dark Forbidden Forest; the only sounds were the rustling of the branches and the galloping hooves. Lily cringed as her cloak billowed out behind her and James rode hard and fast, his eyes straight forward. Lily did not have such luxury. She winced as the tree loomed over her, hiding the moon.

She had never felt such biting cold before. It was always summer on the grounds of Hogwarts. Lily couldn’t help but wonder if this was what the people felt during ‘winter’. She couldn’t imagine  _ always  _ feeling the biting touch of winter. It seemed too cruel.

Another wolf howled. Lily finched.

The darkness swallowed her whole.

“I want to go home,” Lily whispered, her plea lost to the whistling wind.

James glanced over his shoulder for a second, at the younger girl that clung to his back. He felt a pit of sympathy and loss. This beautiful girl, his partner-in-crime, his adventurer would be locked away. He wouldn’t see her or hear her insults for a long time, he suspected. He wanted to help her but, he couldn’t. The only thing James could do not was get her through the Forbidden Forest alive.

The howl grew louder and then a great terrible hiss. James could feel the horse growing skitting beneath them.

And then, suddenly, something large and hairy jumped from the shadows and James spun into action, just as Lily let out an ear-piercing scream.

The hazel-eyed Auror jumped from the horse and drew his sword and wand. He knew no spells to battle beasts such as Acromantulas.

“Lily! Stay on the horse and keep her calm! I can handle this,” James commanded.

Lily whispered shrill, reassuring words to the horse as James squared off with the hairy eight-legged creature. It was large, so it must be a female, he noticed. But, no it was bigger than just any female. The Alpha Female then. The Acromantula snapped its pincers at him but, James sliced his sword with valor. The Acromantula let out a loud squeal as James severed one of its enormous legs.

James laughed, throwing his head back in triumph.

“James! Pay attention!” Lily screamed, pointing.

James blinked just in time to be tackled by the crippled Acromantula. His sword was flung from his hand and Lily blinked in horror as the only thing between James’ face and Acromantula’s pincers were his hands and legs, attempting to kick the beast off of him. Lily pulled her wand, eyes hard.

“ _ ARANIA EXUMAI! _ ” she shouted, the authority of Gryffindor coursing through her.

A blast of white light through the beast back and before James could recover, Lily jumped off the horse, dove for the sword and thrust blindly at the Acromantula. The Acromantula squealed again, this time with rage and Lily’s eyes narrowed.

“Come and get it!” Lily snarled, furious.

The Acromantula reared, ready to attack her and Lily wasted no time. She ran forward, stabbing her sword straight into the soft underbelly of the great spider, impaling it on the broadsword. The end of the sword emerged, covered in a thick glue-like substance and Lily ripped it out, killing the Acromantula for good.

Lily stumbled back, suddenly exhausted. “Your sword,” she said, loosely dropping it at James’ feet. She held out her hand, pulling up, before swiftly turning away and staggering back to the horse.

“You were amazing!” James crowed, wiping the flat of his slimy blade on the dirt ground, cleaning it as best as he could. He sheathed it again and grinned at her, helping her onto the frightened horse.

“What’s with the tone of surprise?” Lily said, teasing.

James laughed as they began their ride again. They rode hard and fast, and this time, no creatures of the Forbidden Forest drew them away from their path. It was near daybreak when they reached the secured location. Lily could feel when they entered the barrier of the Fidelius Charm.

They were in the middle of a clearing and there, it was warm, like the grounds of Hogwarts. So, Lily would not have to miss the eternal summer as she thought she would. Lily stared up at the tallest tower that she had ever seen in her entire life. It was taller than any of the trees of the Forbidden Forest, probably twenty stories high, and yet, she hadn’t seen it from the gates.

“There’s no door,” Lily whispered.

James nodded, apologetic. “I have to Apparate you in. It’s for your own safety,” James promised, helping Lily from the horse. Lily clung to him, her exhaustion threatening to overwhelm her.

James held the princess tight and Disapparated her.

They appeared in the rounded room at the top of the tower. Lily inspected her new prison. It was lavish for a prison; a full sitting area, meant to entertain guests that she would never have. A study area full of books and paints and then, a small kitchen of sorts, an enchanted fireplace. Perhaps it was meant to Floo her parents.

More likely, it was for her to create potions. That was surprisingly thoughtful of her parents.

“Who crafted the tower?” Lily whispered.

“The Founders. They wanted you to like it,” James said.

Lily sighed, looking at the stairs that presumably led up to the lofted area that was her bedroom.

“Thank you for bringing me to my prison,” Lily said but, there was no anger in her voice. Just a quiet resignation. She flushed when she felt James’ lips press against her forehead and her hairline.

“Thank you for saving me from an alpha female Acromantula,” James said. He pulled back, a wry grin on his face. “I know the secret now. I’ll visit as often as I can, if you like. I could bring the others.”

Lily grinned. James was sincere in a way that no one else at court was. Not even Severus, her dear Severus that had abandoned her, was as sincere as this boy. Yes, James was arrogant and his teasing could be cruel but, he was sincere. At least, there was no arrogance in his eyes now.

Just understanding. Lily grinned, hugging him tightly. She leaned up, her lips brushing against the shell of his ear.

“I’d like that.”

* * *

 

**ALL**

* * *

 

Violet and crimson eyes bored into the Mirror, watching their plan crumple like wet paper. They hissed to themselves, rage boiling their blood. Bellatrix had sent the Acromantula and it had done nothing to help their plans. Only another reason to hate the idiot groundskeeper and his damned pets.

Tom stroked his loyal Nagini, her tongue flicking against his cheek, attempting to soothe his fury. He turned his gaze to his sister, drinking in her rage, and then back to the Mirror.

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall whom is fairest of them all?” The softness of his voice belief the cold fury.

“You are, your Highnesses, for the Tiger-lily shall not surpass your face. Her heart is bitter and thus beauty has diminished in face. But, be afeard that another shall be born, in time’s passing,” the Mirror warned, the end of its rhyme dangling in the air between them.

Tom scowled. The Mirror’s warning was the same as always. In time. In time.

“In time, in time,” Bellatrix snarled.

Tom knew what time meant to Bellatrix.

Time meant aging. Aging meant older. Growing older meant growing ugly.

“Trelawney, we are still waiting,” Tom said, coldly.

The woman hunched over in the chair, wheezing and twitching from the aftershocks of the Cruciatus curse. Bellatrix sneered, raising her wand again.

“ _ Crucio _ ,” she bit out and the woman screamed again, her shrill cries bounce against the rounded walls of the tiny room in the foundations of Hogwarts Castle, only to be reached by a strange little door on the seventh floor, across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.

The Seer’s screaming suddenly ceased and Tom held up his hand. Bellatrix ended the curse and Tom loomed over the chained woman. Trelawney gasped, raspy and guttural, her eyes swallowing the world once more.

“ _ The one with the power to _

_ Vanquish the Beauty approaches… _

_ Born to those who have thrice defied them, _

_ Born as the seventh month dies _

_ And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, _

_ But, he will have powers that Beauty knows not _

_ And either must die at the hand of the other _

_ For neither can live while the other survive. _

_ By fairest blood, it is done, by fairest blood, it is undone. _

_ Mirror, mirror, on the wall, whom is fairest of them all?” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing and I hope you enjoyed reading. Thank you for reading! Please think about dropping a kudos or comment.
> 
> I live on them. It's how I survive.


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, chapter two. Here we go. I think my writing of women hasn't gotten particularly more feminist. I was a hateful adolescent, between the ages of 12 and 14, where I glorified and objectified male relationships at the expense of women. Well, no more of that bullshit. Lily's a fucking badass in her own right. Women don't need to wield swords to be strong in this story, so if that's what you're looking for, you're in the wrong place.

Time passed. Princess Lily was very aware of it. The walls of her round cage were marked with the days that had passed. She was bitter and tired and she knew it. Bitter and tired and alone. Her beloved Aunt Helga remained her only visitor, returning only to bring provisions. Only the walls remained to entertain her—the walls, the passing sun, memories of her childhood already beginning to blur into colours, red being the predominate shade.

The young woman's head of flames extended down to her thighs now. She slowly brushed through it as she sat in her window sill. The snow fell softly onto her ebony windowsill, and she sighed as she ran her finger over it. She lifted her hand, as if to put her hand out the window, but her fingers met the all-too-familiar barrier and she pulled away, shaking her head.

Always in.

Never out.

"Always in. Always…alone," she muttered to herself, "so quiet…silent."

She laughed harshly. Then she sighed before gritting her teeth and turning away from the window. The young woman stood and walked bare-footed to the mirror that rested against the wall. She stared at her image and couldn't help but glare at it with a twisted sense of hatred.

Snow.

Fire.

Jewel.

Lily Gryffindor was not stupid. In truth, she was rather intelligent. She knew what the damned prophecy referred to. Lily's eyes narrowed in rage as she remembered the prophecy, a prophecy that she dreamed about in the night, the words haunting her every step.

The words that had ruined her life and destroyed her family.

The prophecy that had destroyed her.

As Lily felt the hatred rise in her once again for the woman who had delivered those words, she shook her head and grabbed her hair at the roots. She tugged at it as she tried to come out of the all-consuming hatred, but it was hard. So hard when no one was there. She looked at herself in the mirror and there was no one but her. It was only her, always her, and every time she tried to remember something more, when she had had more than she could ever want, all she saw was a black void, threatening to swallow her whole. A black void and a little bird. The little bird flew.

She was alone, so alone. She had wanted to leave so badly, and now, when she was gone, she saw what she had had. And she hated herself. She hated herself for being weak and alone.

"Stop it!" Lily screamed.

She was met with a resounding silence. She reached around, retrieving a book from a shelf and threw it with all her might at the mirror. It shattered, sending shards flying out at her.

She did nothing to avoid them or stop them. With grief, she had long lost her desire to use her magic. She barely had the will to live, much less to do anything else. The young woman felt the glass slice at her cheek before continuing on its path. The pieces fell to the floor, twinkling, but Lily could hear one hit the barrier by the window. Lily shook her head and sighed before going to retrieve the broom. She wasn't a masochist.

Slowly but steadily, she swept the glass into a small pile. She sighed before going towards the window to retrieve the piece that had fallen there and then stood, looking at the fragment in wonder. Her blood had slipped from the glass to the ebony windowsill. Stray bits of snow had drifted in from the barrier.

It looked striking, the contrast of the colours.

Blood.

Snow.

Ebony.

Lily shook her head and picked up the piece of glass, tossing it onto the small pile of shards. The exiled princess picked up a rag from her small kitchen and she mopped up the small droplets of crimson. She looked out at the snowy world that surrounded her prison.

She had requested winter from the sylphs that attended the Forest, and the wind spirits had blown a blizzard to her, clouds trailing in their wake like the tails of phoenixes. They were loyal to the lonely, so it was no wonder that Lily had been the first to encounter the creatures since their time of self-exile, hiding within the dark depths of the Forest that held many secrets.

The sylphs had come to her and they had been kind to bring the snow to her, but not kind enough to keep her company. The snow, however, was beautiful.

Change was obsolete in her world, where everything was so monotonous and silence reigned supreme. She ran her finger over the cut on her cheek and stared down at the blood, reassuring herself that she was not porcelain, but was still a being of flesh and blood. Flesh and blood dried up and withered away. It died. Perhaps change was a good thing.

"Change is…good. Change means _death_. I think I'd rather like to meet _Death_ ," Lily said softly to the room, a small smile gracing her face.

"Lily, never speak those vile words again!"

Lily looked up in the direction of the voice, her deprecating smile turning acidic. She looked at the Queen of honey and milk through jaded eyes. Her bitter smile only widened at the look of intense worry on her aunt's face. She looked away. She didn't care what the woman was here for. She didn't care about anything anymore. It didn't matter.

None of it mattered.

"Hello, Queen Helga."

"Little lioness…"

"Don't call me that!" Lily snarled rabidly. Helga's eyes widened at the hostility in her voice.

"I'm sorry, Lily."

"Aren't you?" Lily retorted, acidic mockery infiltrating her voice.

"I've only come to bring you food," Helga said placating, offering the basket of food as a peace treaty. Lily scoffed, ducking her head towards the other basket of food that Helga had brought two weeks earlier, the food within still fresh from the stasis charm. It had been picked at but, not truly consumed. Helga sighed. "I wish you'd eat."

"I wish you'd leave. How do you come to be here anyway?" Lily grumbled. Helga reached for her, the younger woman flinching away.

"I wish you wouldn't hate me, tiger-lily," Helga whispered.

"I couldn't ever hate you," Lily whispered. "But, I hate what you've done to me. Your protection means nothing if I could slay myself. A well-placed Killing Curse, knives to my wrists, it is no matter."

Helga shuddered at the cold words. "You wouldn't."

"Wouldn't I?" Lily whispered. "I have been locked away for ten years. I'm twenty and four annuals. The time for idle threats have long past."

Helga swallowed hard. "You leave me no choice."

"I have never had choice. Why should you?" Lily asked, drifting from her aunt and going towards her bubbling cauldron. "Have you brought me the ingredients I asked for?"

"Of course," Helga said, hurriedly. "I will have to send someone to check on you everyday if you continue threatening... _that._ "

"Can't you say it, Aunt? Suicide," Lily said, a chilly smile on her face. "Who will you send? Mother? Father? I never want to see them again."

Helga shook her head. "No. You shall see," Helga promised. She crossed to Lily's side and pressed a swift kiss to her forehead. Lily stood still for it and shook herself when Helga pulled away. "I must go."

Lily faltered. "So soon?"

"The kingdoms are not at peace. Andromeda has left again and returned once more after being dragged back a second time, wreaking havoc on a village in her struggle to leave. The court is questioning our authority since we cannot keep one girl under control. There have been small rebellions whispering loyalties to a Dark Lord," Helga said, nervously.

Lily's eyes widened. "Another Dark Lord? Like the ones before your reign?" Lily whispered.

"We do not know his name. The darkness speaks in whispers though. I think he has infiltrated court...but, we are not certain," Helga said. She shook herself and stood straight, self-assured. "But, do not worry."

"I...am not," Lily lied. "But, I can do powerful magic from here. Untraceable magic. I shall try to scry in my cauldron."

Helga smiled softly. "You are a good girl, my love. I bid you farewell," Helga said, pressing two more kisses to each of Lily's cheeks before she Disapparated with a crack.

Lily turned to her cauldron, _Vanished_ her potion, and poured steaming water into it. She began to scry, searching for the face of the Dark Lord that frightened her aunt Helga, one of the most powerful witches to ever walk the Earth.

Hours passed and still she scryed for the face but, found nothing. She scryed, waiting for her babysitter to come, and when he did not come, scryed into the night. The world's elements did not matter when she needed to crack the mystery of the man that was threatening her kingdoms.

Finally, _finally,_ her trance broke when a voice rang out.

"Tiger-lily, tiger-lily, are you up there?"

The familiar voice struck Lily to her core. She rushed to the window, pressing her clammy forehead to the cool glass, ignoring the way her stomach caved in, rumbling for food that she didn't care to eat.

She glanced back at the basket and at a block of the cheese that she had favoured in her youth.

Lily jolted when she saw the shock of dark hair. She stared in complete disbelief at the familiar face that stared up, squinting to see through the window. The woman swallowed hard and stepped back, waiting for him to enter the prison that she couldn't call home.

When he lifted his tawny eyes to her emerald orbs, his smile gentled. He Disapparated with an obnoxious crack and she spun, watching him twist into being from nothingness.

"James," she breathed.

His shoulders were broader, arms more defined than before. His jaw was stronger but, his height hadn't changed much. He had always been so tall and he was two years older than her. So much had changed. He wore glasses now, probably enchanted to stay on his face, like Albus'. So much had changed. Except for that grin, full of mischief and teasing.

"Lily," he whispered, moving closer, eyes bright. " _Lily_."

Lily jerked back, her back pressed against the glass window and she shook her head. She hated herself when she felt her eyes burn and well with tears. She closed her eyes for a long moment, squeezing them tight, willing the anguish away. When she opened her eyes again, James' brow was furrowed in confusion.

_I'll visit as often as I can, if you like._

Such _lies_.

"Princess? Lily?" James asked, worry in the lines of his body. He took a step closer.

Lily drew her wand.

"You stay away from me," she spat. She was shaking. She had to stop _shaking_. "You lied to me!"

"I would never—"

"You didn't visit me!" Lily shouted.

James swallowed. "I'm sure Queen Helga told you. There have been disturbances throughout Albion—"

"For ten years, James! Ten years you left me alone to rot!" Lily snarled.

James sighed, remorse and grief conflicting on his face. "Lily, there has been unrest from the moment you disappeared. I wish I could—"

"How would I know, James? I am isolated here! I do not know what happens outside this tower! What happens in the world... _this_ is my world. And I'm only the person in it!" Lily shouted, and she could feel the power and fire sparking in her, threatening to overwhelm. She gasped for breath, her green eyes glowing, the flames near the cauldron growing.

"Lily, everything we do is to _protect_ you! Your mother mourns you as if you were dead! Your father is not the same. He is solemn and silent. Every day without you, the fire within them dies more and more. Please, understand—" James said, alarmed.

It was meant to reassure, to reaffirm their promise to her. That she would see them again. But, it only enraged her, sending a heat down her spine.

"Leave," she snarled, the heat of a dragon filling her voice, the heart of a lioness beating in her chest.

James faltered. "I have to stay with you for at least an hour, every day. Lily, you can't—"

"Don't tell me what I mean!" Lily roared. The flames exploded, the water bursting into steam and filling the tower room. Lily swallowed, calming herself and stowing her wand away before she cursed the Auror. Softer, she said, "What I can and can't do. All my _life_ I've been told these things and look at me now. Come back tomorrow."

James swallowed and nodded, shakily. The desperation for some semblance of control was in her voice. This was the one thing she could control. And James would grant her that. He'd give her anything.

"Tomorrow, Princess?" he asked, voice so soft she barely heard it.

Lily turned away, her shoulders trembling with suppressed sobs. "Tomorrow," she choked out.

James stared at her back, regretful and he shook himself. She was so thin, only skin and bones, her dress hanging off of her loosely. Her exposed shoulder was so sharp. And yet, her hair was still bright like flames, as he remembered them. She was still his tiger-lily, his partner-in-crime, his adventurer.

He would just have to remind her.

James Disapparated with a crack. The moment he was gone, Lily fell to her knees and wept.

* * *

  **TIGER-LILY, TIGER-LILY**

* * *

 Lily sat down in the window seat, running a brush down her long reddish-brown hair. She looked out at the falling snow with blank copper eyes, immersed in her thoughts. She couldn't help but think on her outburst the day before and couldn't help but hate that she was embarrassed about it.

"Tiger-lily, tiger-lily, are you up there?"

Lily heard the shout and looked down to see a reluctant James Potter. He was leading a familiar horse to the side of the tower. He couldn't have taken a direct route to the tower as there were still be people searching for her. She wondered how long it had taken for him to reach her without tipping them off.

"I'm up here. I'm _always_ up here!" Lily roared, though she couldn't help but smile at the stupid question. Only James would ask something like that in an attempt to make her feel better. It reminded her of how it used to be, when she had been a child still.

James stared up at her, surprised that she had answered. His incredulity turned into a bright grin and he dismounted so quickly that he almost fell to the ground in his haste. Lily laughed again—she was surprised, that she could still laugh—and tried to swallow it when she heard the tell-tale crack of Disapparation.

She turned her head and stared as James appeared out of nothingness. He stared at her, stricken for a long moment.

"What?" Lily teased. It was awkward coming out of her mouth. She hadn't teased anyone in such a long time.

James swallowed, looking ather glorious mane. It was bright red, thick, and shiny. It fell past the window seat. When she was standing, it probably fell past her knees even.

"Your hair is still so beautiful," James whispered and he flushed in embarrassment.

Lily smirked. "You still aren't very charming, are you?"

James swallowed and took the out. "I'll have you know the ladies of the court think I'm perfectly charming!" he squawked.

"Mhmm," Lily hummed, disbelieving. She looked back out the window, down at the horse waiting patiently. "What is your horse's name? I've forgotten."

"Cleansweep. He's a very good horse," James said, Summoning a chair from the sitting area and swinging down to sit in it, slouching and wrinkling his robes.

"I remember that. He brought me here. So brave while I slew an Acromantula," Lily said, smirking. James returned her grin, helplessly.

"Aye, he was. You did," James said. His smile faltered. "I am sorry, Lily. You were right. I lied. I should've visited you."

"Aye, you should have," Lily allowed.

James swallowed. "I'll make it up to you. There's much I want to tell you. Not that I particularly should but, you deserve to know. You've always deserved to know. This tower isn't your world."

Lily flushed, looking away. "Please don't repeat the terribly embarrassing things that I confessed yesterday. It was humiliating enough that you saw," Lily whispered.

"It was brave. You were vulnerable and that's _brave_ ," James said, so fiercely sure of his words that Lily believed him. "I owe you an explanation."

"Then explain." Lily leaned forward, setting her brush down. "I know nothing, James. Tell me: how is Mother and Father? Truly? Not the bullshit Helga feeds me. And how is Salazar and Rowena? And my Fawkes?"

Lily felt desperation as she thought upon her beloved phoenix, her Fawkes, who came and went as he pleased but, had always been hers.

Lily stared into his hazel eyes. They were always the most beautiful part of him, blue and green and brown, and still so light that they looked amber in Hogwarts' eternal summer. She had dreamed of those eyes. She would never admit it.

"Fawkes is well. He is mostly gone. When he is at Hogwarts, he mourns you, trilling forever. But, he stays at Albus' side. He knows where his loyalties lie. Queen Rowena still mourns Princess Helena, as she will under the end of her days. Besides this, she lives and breathes and fights. King Salazar remains cold but, there is sadness in him. Queen Consort Karina speaks of you everyday. She has resumed her position as Commander of the Archers. She speaks of you...but, not in front of King Godric. He misses you most of all. He aches without you, Lily. You were the flame, the light of the palace," James said, all earnesty. Lily frowned.

She didn't want to know how they felt about her exile.

"Mother has resumed her military position?" Lily asked.

James hesitated. "I'll...get to that."

Lily sighed, impatiently and nodded. "Then, how is the rest of your band of merry knights? The Marauders," Lily asked, her lips quirking into a smile despite herself. Her constant companions since she was young girl, the Marauders.

"Well, we're doing all right. We finished our map, by the way! And we were all...promoted, I guess. I think you'll pleased to know that we are all members of the Order of the Phoenix," James said, puffing his chest out, proudly.

"What? Phoenix?" Lily asked.

"You mother called you 'phoenix'. Do you remember?" James asked.

Lily nodded. "Of...of course, I remember."

"Yes, well, we couldn't call it the Order of the Lily. It would have been too obvious. Bellatrix and Tom Marvolo aren't fools," James said, hatred permeating his voice as he spoke of Lily's 'cousins'.

Lily's eyes widened.

"The twins?"

"Bellatrix and Tom Marvolo have always been...off. But, Albus Dumbledore—he's our leader—suspects that _they_ are the ones who want to kill you. They know you are not dead as we attempted to pretend. We believe that there are aware of everything, expect where you are located. Sirius doesn't spend time with us in public anymore. We can risk him as the Secret Keeper to your...prison," James said and Lily froze at his choice of words.

She looked at him and he looked back, remorse and understanding.

He knew what this was. A prison, not a salvation.

Lily smiled. James smiled back. And then his smile withered because he caught the look of death that lingered in the shadows beneath her eyes. She was dying.

She wasn't going to live another year.

"Princess...you have to eat. You have to get better," James whispered.

Lily closed her eyes. "I don't recall what it is like to feel. This tower's going to be my grave and there's no one who can save me," Lily whispered.

"You can save yourself," James hissed. Lily's eyes flashed open. "You're right, no one can save you. No can give you the will to live. Except, yourself."

Lily stared at him. "I know."

James sat in his chair, dumbstruck. Lily knew that she was on a course to absolute destruction. She was lonely and hurt, her soul festering with bitterness and self-pity and rage. She was still achingly beautiful but, her disposition was heartbreakingly ugly.

"You know. Lily, you have to eat. You're so thin, I can count your bones. I can tell that you don't sleep. We want the best for you," James said, firmly.

" _THIS ISN'T WHAT'S BEST FOR ME!_ " Lily roared.

This time, James was prepared for the fire to crackle and rage behind him. He didn't flinch or jump.

Coldly, he said, "Don't you think I know that now?"

Lily recoiled. She closed her eyes, swallowing her sobs. "How long can I live this way?" she asked, desperately. "Can't you let me go? I'm sick of shadows, James. I want to see the sky. Why can't I?"

"One day you will," James promised and he crossed the room, kneeling by her side, pressing his head into her lap. Lily let her hand fall into his hair. She had forgotten how soft his hair was.

James waited for the distraught woman to speak.

"It rains but I can't feel it. The wind is cold and yet, I can't feel it. I want to feel the rain on my face, James. The wind through my hair. I've been waiting...for so _long_. I've been waiting for the day I'll die and it's coming. I've been told that I'll die before I'm old...and before I go...I wish to feel how cold the wind is," Lily whispered. These were words that she had thought and prayed over her years, but she had never spoken them aloud.

James was uncomfortable. He was uncomfortable being confronted with Lily's mortality. Lily had long gotten over such things.

"You will save yourself, Princess Lily Gryffindor of Albion. And I will help you. This, I swear on my honor as a Knight and Auror," James whispered, kneeling before his princess.

Lily hummed, stroking his hair.

"How does one save someone that doesn't want to be saved?" Lily asked.

"We try," James said, fiercely. Lily's lips curled into a tiny smile. "We _try_ every day until you're okay. I promise."

* * *

**LET DOWN**

* * *

Every day, they tried.

Every day, James returned and sat with the broken, grieving princess and they spoke, driving her loneliness away. He watched her chase the shadows away; she laughed, sometimes, and her eyes were bright, nearly as bright as the flames on her crown. It was slow and sometimes, she retreated into her shell, cracking nary a smile but, she healed. She pulled her broken pieces together and fashioned herself into something stronger than the porcelain she had been. Now, she was tough and beautiful as ivory.

He was reminded of her quick wit and her fast tongue. Even locked away in a tower, her intelligence had only grew and she had become a powerful Potions Mistress in her boredom. He was impressed by her, bewitched by her.

In turn, Lily had felt her own attachment to James reforming and growing. Whether it was due to him being her only companion or the fact that he was lovely, her feelings grew past those of their childhood companionship into something far deeper than she had ever felt before.

It felt as if they had never parted.

It was easy. It was enough.

They amused each other with silly games and James regaled Lily with stories of the Marauders, stories that had occurred in her absence. Lily retold memories of when Lily had been with the Marauders, revealing pranks and plots that even James had not been privy to.

As Lily's humanity returned, her loneliness departed.

James reported his progress to Queen Helga and she was pleased and eager to see the child that she had missed. Lily was more than surprised that, eight weeks after she had last seen Helga, the woman was accompanying James.

The princess looked from her tower, catching sight of the woman of milk and honey, perched behind James on Cleansweep. Helga Disapparated with barely a shift, startling Cleansweep and James both. Lily spun and her lips twitched.

Helga grinned; that had been the most emotion, besides rage, that Lily had shown Helga in at least six years. Despite her grin, Lily was quick to note the strain in her eyes. Helga had gained wrinkles in the last eight weeks. Strands of silver streak through her honey colored hair. Her bones screamed of exhaustion.

"Lily," Helga murmured, taking a step forward.

"Aunt Helga," Lily said, stiffly, unsure. She looked away from Helga for just a moment, staring down from her window seat at James and Cleansweep.

James grinned up at her. Lily couldn't help her tender smile. She heard Helga's sharp gasp and Lily turned, sending the woman a glare. Helga's gaze was soft.

"You love him," Helga whispered.

Lily stilled and swallowed. She could feel and Lily had forgotten how strong and _damning_ emotions were. The sadness in her eyes overwhelmed Helga. The Western Queen of Albion looked away.

"I do," Lily breathed. "And that man's going to be my death because he's all I've ever wanted in my life. He chokes over my name and I know that all the girls are the same to him. He has told me enough of his exploits for me to know this. But, that's doesn't matter."

Helga swallowed. "Why doesn't it matter?"

"I still have to get out of this place because I don't know if I can face another night," Lily confessed, and it felt like a breath of fresh air to say it out loud without raging or crying.

Helga glared out of the window. "He said that you were getting better," Helga accused.

"Did he tell you that I was dying from the loneliness and pain? Did he tell you how much I hated before he came? Did he tell you that I'm sick of shadows? And that I can't see the sky? Did he tell you how I wonder and ask myself, why everyone else can watch the tide come in but I can't?" Lily asked, her voice calm and kind and Helga blinked in shock, turning back to her 'niece'.

Helga shook her head. "No."

"Aunt Helga, I want to feel the rain on my skin. I want to feel the wind instead of just hearing it and knowing that it's there. I've been waiting for the day, I will surely die, for I've been told that I'll die before I'm old. And in death, I hope I will feel the wind," Lily said, morbidly.

Helga reached for the younger woman's hands and was shocked when Lily didn't pull her wand on her. No, Lily stared at her with solemn green eyes, the color of summer.

"But, it's...there's more. There's willow trees and little breezes, walls, and flower. And there's moonlight, every single night, even in this tower. There's the small things," Lily said and she smiled, brightly. "So, I'll meet my death. But, with my last breath, I'll sing him to my love. And then I shall meet my end. But, not yet. I'm okay."

Helga swallowed, unsure. Just weeks before, Lily had been so enraged, and now she was at peace, resigned to her fate. Helga wasn't sure which she preferred.

"I must get back to the palace," Helga breathed. "There are many things happening. There have been attacks along the Eastern border and Rowena is hardpressed to stop them alone. She's on the frontlines with your mother. It's only skirmishes, for now, along the forest edges and the river banks but, someone is challenging our reign. Have you had luck in scrying?"

Lily swallowed. She refused to confess that she had forgotten after James began to visit.

"No luck," Lily apologized. "But, I can brew, Aunt Helga. No one is as good a brewer, except, perhaps, Severus Snape. Has he been brewing for you?"

Helga pursed her lips. "For Tom Marvolo and his band of savages only. They do not fight...if they fight, they slaughter everything in their path, leaving more bloodshed than necessary. It is for the best."

Lily nodded in understanding. "Well, then," she said. "Send James along with a list of potions and ingredients. I will brew for you."

Helga leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Lily's forehead. "Thank you, my love. Goodbye," Helga whispered, pulling a Portkey from her satchel and Lily watched her disappear in a swirl of light.

Lily let out a heavy sigh, a weight on her shoulders. War was brewing and, she was the only one not in battle. She could not get angry. No, she would do what she could from her tower. Lily tucked a strand of hair up in her elaborate bun. She had missed them, and began to wear her hair up atop her head the more James visited. It reminded her of the Southern style of her youth, the way her mother used to do her hair when she was not going to battle.

"Tiger-lily, tiger-lily, are you up there?"

Lily grinned at James' shout.

"I'm up here!" she shouted, and there was the loud crack again.

James appeared in her room and Lily stared at him, masking the burning affection that coiled through her body. Merlin, James was handsome. He looked like he had been training, cheeks flushed, hair sticky against his forehead. She wondered briefly what he looked like under his robes. All hard muscle and if he was to be believed, a nice cock. Lily hid her flush.

She had never thought such things. She had never _experienced_ such things, and yet here she was, her folds growing wet, want coiling in her belly.

"Hey, Princess. I was thinking," James said as he flopped down onto his chair and slumped, relaxed.

"Merlin forbid," Lily bit out, chewing at her bottom lip.

James glared at her before continuing. "It's been almost ten years since the Marauders have seen you and you've seen them. And we talk about them so much, I thought that you might like a visit. Maybe, Samhain, yeah?"

Lily stared at him. He was nervous. James was never nervous. And he was staring at the curve of her neck, his gaze tracking her lips, her hair, her nose, the curve of her breasts. Everything but her eyes.

"Why are you here, James? Why are you trying so hard?" Lily asked, softly. James blinked in surprise and finally, he looked her in the eye.

"You're alive, Lily," James murmured, gesturing towards the looking glass.

Lily looked at herself, examining her reflection with a critical eye.

Bright red hair was piled high upon her head, braided and twisted in the Southern style. Her dress, made of simply brown and green cotton swept to the floor, short enough to reveal her bare toes. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were bright. She was alive. But, she craved more. She wanted him even if he could never want her back.

"I'm alive with nothing to live for. Isn't that worse than just dying?" Lily asked.

James moved forward, standing behind her in the mirror. Lily's breath caught in her throat as she felt the heat of his chest pressed against her back. His hands—big strong hands—pressed against her hips, holding her tight. Lily caught his gaze in the mirror. His hazel eyes darkened. Lily wondered. _Was this what lust looked like_?

"And I could let you die. If that's what you want," James whispered, resignation in his voice.

"What?" Lily whispered.

"If you really believe your existence has no meaning, if you truly believe that, I will let you go. But, you will get out of here. And out there...there's a whole world out there. Great cities and art and music but here...here in this tower, there is genuine beauty," James promised and Lily froze as James pressed his cheek to the top of her head and inhaled, as if he were getting drunk on her scent.

"James," Lily breathed. James' hands tightened on her hips.

"You've only seen the ugliness of everything but, in this tower, more radiant than anything I've seen in the world, is you. You are so strong, Lily. Beautiful in your strength. But, if you truly want to go...I'll let you go," James murmured. Lily turned and looked up at him, staring into his dark eyes.

"Ask me to live," Lily begged.

James frowned in confusion. "What?" he whispered.

"I don't want to die," Lily whispered, brokenly.

James' lips curled into a smile of wonder and he leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. Lily tilted her head up and their lips met. It was a sweet kiss, innocent and nearly chaste.

And then James was shoving Lily back into the mirror, following after her, his tongue plunging into her mouth. Lily whined into his mouth, her fingers clawing over his shoulders as she kissed him back. It was sloppy at first, but Lily began to follow James' motions, falling into a rhythm, her tongue chasing his. They broke for air, panting, smiling with kiss-swollen lips.

"Do you...you've never...coupled with anyone," James said, his cheeks flushed.

Lily shook her head. "No. But, I've read...a lot."

"Reading dirty smut, eh, Lily?" James teased.

Lily's eyes narrowed. "You shut your mouth, Potter," Lily drawled before she pulled him in, losing herself to the fervor of passion and lust. She whimpered into his mouth again, moaning. Hands ripped at cloth, her nimble fingers unbuttoning his robes and jerkin, sliding them off his shoulders.

Lily pulled back again, running her hands up and down his bare chest, fascinated. She ran her fingers along his strong biceps, over his leather wand holster. James was as muscular as she imagined him, his abdomen and pectoral muscles well-defined. James wasn't a hairy man. Just a trail leading down to the bulge in his tight trousers. Lily's mouth-watered. She slowly looked up from James' hard cock and met his eyes. His pupils were blown with lust. He hungered for her.

"Tiger-lily, tiger-lily, let down your hair?" James whispered.

Lily breathed heavily, nodding. She pulled her wand from her bodice and summoned the hairpins into her hand. She felt the long braids fall around her face, and Lily dropped her wand, making quick work of the braids, tugging her fingers through thick redhair until it spilled around her, a halo of fire.

"Merlin...you're…" James trailed off as Lily tugged at the laces of her bodice and corset, just enough for the dress to come loose around her. She yanked it down, letting it fall to her feet and she pulled her chemise over her head, leaving her bare. James swallowed. "Fuck, Lily."

"Yes, fuck," Lily whispered.

James nodded as he drank her in. She was not a curvy woman; she never would be. But, he was enraptured with the dip of her waist, her bony thighs, her full breasts, the thatch of bright red hair between her legs. James took a deep breath through his nose.

"You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," he swore. "You are like fire."

"Fire burns, James," Lily teased, as if speaking to a simpleton.

James grinned and grabbed her by the waist, hoisting her up. Lily squeal, laughing, wrapping her legs around his waist. He stared up at her, nuzzling his cheek to her breasts.

"Then burn me, woman," he whispered, licking at the underside of her breast. Lily mewled as he sucked at her skin, setting her alight.

The fire beneath the cauldron burned hotter.

"Make love to me, James?" Lily begged, rocking against him, her folds dripping and James carried her forward, letting her slip down to the ground. She wobbled on shaky legs, taking him by the hand and dragging him towards the stairs and up to the lofted area. She paused as she stared at the bed. "I...I don't know…"

"Lay on your back, Lily," James whispered.

Lily nodded and crossed to the bed, laying back nervously, her fists clenched by her side. James stared at her for a long moment, undoing his trousers and pushing them down. Lily's breath caught in her chest and her heart pounded harder. His cock was not... _small_. Were all men's cocks large like that? Lily bit her lower lip, her cheeks flaming.

"Do you still want this?" James asked, one knee on the edge of the bed. "We don't have to. You're in control."

"I want this," Lily said, immediately, staring at him with brilliant green eyes. "Make me feel, James. Make me _feel_."

James nodded and slid onto the bed, grabbing her by her knees and slowly spread her legs. Lily mewled as he pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh, sucking at the sensitive flesh. She gasped, back arching as he moved up, pressing his tongue against her folds. Her thighs clenched around his ears.

"James... _what_... _oh_!" Lily gasped as she felt his tongue against her, tasting her, pleasuring her.

 _This_ was not in any of her books.

James looked up, grinning, hazel eyes bright. "No words, Lily. I'm making you _feel_." He bent his head again and resumed his work.

And Lily felt that night. The fire raged in the fireplace, brighter than ever, the torches making the room as bright as the sun, as he brought her to climax with his tongue, and then entered her, all for her pleasure. He drove into her, all for the pursuit of _her_ pleasure, her feeling. She felt bliss as her back arched in completion, her moans all born of gratification.

"I love you, I love you, James. _James_ ," only spurred him to go faster, to touch her, feel her, burn his hands as he showed her how much he loved her back.

That night, she felt more than she had in ten years.

And then, when he whispered, after the embers died, "I love you too," she felt more than she had in her entire life.

* * *

  **YOUR HAIR**

* * *

 "Tiger-lily, tiger-lily, are you up there?"

His call made her smile. She didn't look up from her book as she leaned against the glass. She already knew he'd be grinning, as per usual and it'd make her weak. Six months of loving someone desperately would do that to a person.

"James, where else would I be?" she shouted back, knowing perfectly how well he could hear her.

But, there was a faint chorus of familiar laughter and Lily's eyes widened. She threw back her head and grinned, vibrating. The flames in the fireplace danced. They were here. Of course, they were here. It was perfect. She could tell them. Would tell them all. Lily steeled herself for the deafening crack of multiple people Apparating and then, suddenly, the Marauders were in her tower.

The Marauders visited from time to time, but it had been two months since the last time, as they had gone off to battle, in the South, this time.

Sir Remus Lupin caught her attention first. He looked older than their shared years of twenty and four, nearly five now. His sandy blond hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, streaked with grey. His face was heavily lined. Lily wasn't sure if it was the toil of his curse or the war that wore on him. He had a stack of books under one arm. Lily turned to Sir Sirius Black and grinned.

His black hair was much longer, the heavy braid reaching the small of his back. He smirked back at her in amusement, winking flirtatiously. So, at least, he was the very same.

Sir Peter Pettigrew, the fat little boy, had become a man. He was still short but, war had hardened the fat into the muscle. He still possessed the same mousy brown hair and watery blue eyes, and always in their youth, he was pouting. Sirius had probably teased him. Lily laughed to herself at the thought.

Finally, Lily directed her gaze to James. He smiled at her. Lily held out her hand and James took it. She yanked him forward, leaning up for a long, sweet kiss, sucking at his bottom lip. She ignored Sirius' whoops and when she pulled back James was grinning.

"What a lovely hello," James breathed. "Hello, Lily."

Lily grinned back at him. "Hello, James," she whispered. Lily turned to the Marauders and held out her hands. "Good day, Marauders!"

Before they could collapse atop her with hugs, she nearly sidestepped them and walked towards the sitting area, collapsing into the loveseat. James frowned in confusion and followed her, searching her. She was not laughing or teasing yet. Something _had_ to be wrong.

"Lily is something wrong?" James asked.

Sirius snorted in amusement, shaking his head. "Of course there's something wrong! She has to see _your_ ugly mug."

"Shut up, Sirius," Lily and Remus snapped.

They exchanged surprised looks before they grinned again. Another thing from the past. They were still the two most mature members of their little group. Lily frowned when all of the Marauders gave James a look, as if daring him to do something.

"Lily, I brought you the books you asked for," Remus said. Lily gave him a beautiful smile and she leaned forward, taking the offered books from the awkward man.

"Thank you, Remus. You're perfect," Lily murmured. She flipped through the old Potions books, nodding as she saw the potions that Helga had requested. She had been busy brewing Skelegro, common poison antidotes, and uncommon poison antidotes. But, she thought it might be time to help a little more offensively.

"And the ingredients for more Skelegro, pepper-up, and blood-replenishing potions. Enough for a ton of F-Felix Felicis too," Peter stammered, offering the basket. Lily nodded.

"Just put it over by the kitchen," Lily said, barely looking up from the books, attempting to find her nerve. She cursed herself in her mind. She was a bloody Gryffindor, dammit.

"Lily...I love you," James blurted out. Lily smiled.

"I should hope so. Do you have something new to tell me?" Lily asked, almost unsure.

James frowned. Hyper aware, he noticed how off her tone was.

"Do you have something new to tell me?" he challenged.

"It's...important. But, it can wait," Lily said, hurriedly.

"No, you go first," James insisted.

"No, it's fine. You go. Less important goes first," Lily protested.

"I bet mine is more important," James huffed.

"Oh for Merlin's sake! Say it at the same time!" Sirius whined.

Lily glanced at him, frowning. Sirius' grey eyes were wide with excitement. Remus was holding him by his shoulders, keeping the Black from bouncing up and down like a rabbit. James nudged Lily, and she shrugged.

"Okay," Lily sighed. "One. Two. Three."

"Will you marry me?"

"I'm with child."

They stopped, staring at each other in bewilderment. Peter's mouth fell open in utter shock. Sirius crashed to the floor, falling out of his leap of excitement and Remus blinked, owlishly. Lily smiled and nodded.

"Oh, yes. Of course, I'll marry you, James," she said, brightly, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

James swallowed. "You're...with child?"

"Yes."

"My child?"

Lily glared.

"Well, who else's child would it be? There's no one else in a ten-mile radius," she snarled in irritation. James put his hands up in surrender, going through the motions.

The Auror blinked, finally processing Lily's words.

"I'm…" he swooned, falling off the couch in a dead faint.

Lily rolled her eyes and stood, primly stepping over his body and crossing to her cauldron. She looked over her shoulder at the stock still Marauders. "Someone _Rennervate_ him. And come help me. This Skelegro won't bottle itself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise--consensual sex! It's also het! Lmao I'm bad at writing smut. I tried my best. It's not really hot. It's just...it just is, I guess. Um, whatever.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	4. Chapter Three

Months passed and Lily's stomach grew bloated with the child that would be heir to a throne that wouldn't ever claim for herself. And despite the war that waged on, James was with her at every possible moment. When he wasn't, the appointed bodyguards of her youth were. Sirius, the godfather of her unborn child, swore to protect her until he was stripped of his marrow and Remus watched for danger with the shrewd eyes of a wolf.

As Lily grew, so did the danger in her life. The war waged on, ravaging across Albion, destroying the Forbidden Forest, and still, Lily scryed for the Dark Lord that was whispered about to no avail. When the time came for the birth, Lily knew she couldn't do it by herself.

James had Sirius bring to her the spymaster and the great advisor, Albus Dumbledore, Gideon's most trusted Healer, Madame Pomfrey, and Albus' right hand and the Head of Household at Hogwarts, Madame McGonagall. They visited often, wishing the young woman well, and Lily's depression disappeared into the past.

Helga no longer visited, called away to the frontlines as Commander of the Calvary, and so their secret child was kept just that.

A secret.

The day that Lily's water broke was the day the seventh month died.

James stood at her side, his hand bone white from how hard Lily clenched it. He paled even more, utterly ashen as Lily screamed, blood staining their mattress and the rags red. Madam Pomfrey and Madame McGonagall stood between her legs, attempting to coax the child out to no avail.

"Why won't he come  _out_?" Lily shrieked, let out another roar as she tried to push.

Pomfrey frowned and pointed at James. "Mop her face and keep the hair out of her eyes," she commanded. James looked at her, frantic and Pomfrey rolled her eyes. "Nevermind. Minerva, you do it. Men are useless in such situations. This is why you should be with Albus."

"No, no," Lily begged, clinging tighter to James as McGonagall moved to her other side and pulled her drenched hair from her face, mopping at the sweat with a clean rag. "Don't leave me."

"I'm not going anywhere," James squeaked as Lily let out another roar. The flames burned brighter, lighting the room more and more.

Pomfrey looked up again. "He's starting to crown, love. He's got lots of hair. Ring of fire. You have to push when you feel it. Is it coming again?" Pomfrey asked.

Lily whimpering, biting her lower lip bloody and she nodded. "Yes, yes,  _yes_!" she screamed as she pushed, the ripping agony tearing through her lower body. James let out a yelp as she squeezed hard and long.

"Yes, yes, keep going!" McGonagall encouraged.

Lily screamed louder as she pushed, and the flames grew brighter. James looked out of the building and he gasped. The entire kingdom looked like it was on fire; every flame that existed throughout Albion burned brighter and brighter as his son tried to enter the world. Lily's scream tore through him, the veins strained on her neck, her face a bright red.

"Yes, yes, his shoulders, now! Come on, Princess! Your Highness!" Pomfrey encouraged and Lily's scream grew ragged, her voice gone as she pushed harder and harder, her legs spreading and then Pomfrey crowed.

Suddenly, the room was cast into darkness.

"W-what's happening?" James whispered into the darkness. He looked towards the window but, saw nothing but darkness. It was as if the entire world had gone dark for that moment, nothing but blackness and night.

" _Lumos_ ," McGonagall cast.

The tip of her wand glowed white. Pomfrey held the bloody child in her hand. James' heart stopped. The baby was not crying or moving.

Lily whimpered. "M-my baby," she rasped, her voice lost. "My son…"

"He's not…" James stopped.

Pomfrey held up her hand and slapped the baby's bottom and then their son entered the world with a wail. As soon as his cry cut through the airs, the flames roared, raged, burning just as hot as they had for his mother. James gasped and he looked up.

Albus Dumbledore stood at the mouth of the stairs, his electric blue eyes bright.

"Fire begets fire," Albus whispered. "What will you name him?"

Lily held out her hands, moaning, and Pomfrey smiled as she finished wiping blood and fluids from the child's face before she wrapped him in warm blankets, ignoring his wails. Pomfrey leaned forward, placing him in Lily's arms.

"Are you strong enough to…" James started.

"I am strong enough for this," Lily said, firmly. She stared at her boy and knew then that the boy in her arms was the single most enchanting thing in Albion.

He had eyes that glittered like emeralds, not unlike her own. His skin was the color of snow, just as hers had been, but instead of having a head full of fire as his mother, the babe had inherited his father's messy ebony-colored hair.

"What is his name?" Albus asked again.

Lily cleared her throat. "He deserves a prince's name. Hadrian James Gryffindor-Potter, Prince of the South, Heir of Albion. How does that sound?" Lily breathed.

James swallowed as he felt the power radiating from his son. He slid closer on the bed, staring down at the scrunched face. He could hear the crackling of the fire and he looked at his wife.

"He deserves a warrior's name too. They will talk about this night, Lily. The night that light was extinguished, only to be born again with his cry. Fire begets fire. They will call him Harry Wildfyre for this night."

And so, Harry Wildfyre, Prince of the South, was named.

And that night, a phoenix burst into ashes and was reborn, and a petrified egg of old stirred, long forgotten.

And despite it all, Harry Potter was, above all, loved.

* * *

 

**MIRROR, MIRROR**

* * *

 

But, still, a war waged.

Bellatrix and Tom Marvolo had grown older without the warm heart of Lily Gryffindor. Bellatrix began to wither, grey streaks interrupting her luscious black hair. Her skin grew spotted and papery, wrinkling. Lines embedded deeply in Tom Marvolo's face, and his thick head of hair thinned. Madness gripped their souls as they became uglier with age.

With shattered minds, they told themselves that before their coming deaths, they would take as many with them into that darkness called mortality.

It was a massacre.

With their Knights of Walpurgis and their younger sisters, the twins destroyed the Hogwarts Guard and murdered King Godric and the Queen Consort. Tom Marvolo had the Queen Consort on her knees and made her watch Godric's beheading and then murdered her. Their youngest sister, Narcissa, murdered Queen Helga in bloodthirsty fury, impaling her on a war scythe and Andromeda ended her with a merciful Killing Curse.

Before Bellatrix could land a killing blow on her father, Tom Marvolo ended the massacre.

"You will leave now," he decided, ignoring Bellatrix's squawk of despair. He looked upon Rowena and Salazar with crimson eyes, hard as rubies.

"Why?" Andromeda asked, the only merciful Slytherin child, hardened by her years and yearning to leave. "What have you to gain? What will our mercy do for them?"

"It is not mercy. They will suffer," Tom Marvolo said. When he looked into Rowena's eyes, the hatred he saw brewing was more powerful and darker than anything he'd ever seen except in a mirror.

It made him smile.

"How so? Haven't you already done enough?" Rowena snarled, twitching, attempting to move her Petrified arm.

Tom Marvolo lifted her wand, pressing the tip between her eyes. "You will live," he commanded, "knowing that the murderer of your precious daughter lives. You will live, knowing that you have lost. And you will live, knowing you could never have and never  _can_ do anything about it. And you, Father. You will live, knowing that you failed your children."

And Salazar broke. Rowena bared her teeth as she saw her brother-in-arms crumple.

"I will kill you, Tom Marvolo Slytherin," Rowena vowed. "I will avenge my daughter, my sisters, my brother, and every soul you murdered here today. I will bring to you ten times the pain that you have wrought on me."

Rowena stood on broken dreams and bleeding legs and limped from the Great Hall, leaving Salazar with his snake-children.

Brokenly, Salazar asked, "Have I really failed you all? As a father, I did my best."

Three of his children had nothing to say. One did.

Andromeda lifted her head, tall and proud and whispered, "You didn't protect me from  _him_." She growled with fury, pointing at her father. "Did you even wonder why I ran? Did you even care where I had gone? None of us ever wanted this! Once upon a time, we were children. We weren't animals. Savages. But, they have made us the monsters of their fairy stories. They gossiped and ostracized us. Didn't you wonder why?"

Salazar took a step back. "No," he said.

Andromeda frowned. "Then you've made a grievous miscalculation."

Tom Marvolo stared at his father and said, "This is why I let you go. I want you to be the last. I want you to witness what you have made. On the day before my fifteenth annual, I was called Kingmaker. But, you are my maker, and you shall see what you've wrought. I will not be old and broken as you. We do not flee Death as you do. Death flees from us."

And out of hatred and petty revenge, Tom Marvolo allowed the remaining Founders to flee with just their lives, the clothing on their backs, and the promise that they would return.

The Marauders, in their haste to protect the remaining heirs to the throne, pledged their loyalty to the Slytherin and vowed that they would never cross them. They would protect the Princess Gryffindor and her son, Harry Wildfyre. Out of fear for the heirs, the Secret Keeper was changed, as the Slytherins knew of Sirius' closeness to James, and James' closeness to Lily. Three were honest about their intentions and liars about their loyalty.

One was not.

That night, Bellatrix was crowned Queen Bellatrix the Beautiful, Empress of the Four Directions of Albion, Lady of Hogwarts, and the Fairest of them All.

At her right hand, out of shadows, the Lord Voldemort emerged. Tom Marvolo was no more, leaving only the Dark Lord that the world had feared. The fearsome twins named their two sisters, Narcissa and Andromeda, Princesses of Albion, and Wardens of the East and West, respectively.

With their hellish deed done, Andromeda swore never to return and rode out to the stronghold of the West,

James Potter rode out that night, never to return to Hogwarts, and Disapparated into his princess' tower with wide terrified eyes and ashen skin. He was a wild man, robes in tatters, face stained with blood, and he fell to his knees beside her and their four-month-old son. He was shaking, tears welling in his eyes.

"The snakes," James snarled, his voice cracking so that Lily's core froze.

"What did they do?" Lily asked, cuddling Harry closer to her, hiding him beneath her hair as if she could hide him from the world.

"Bellatrix sits on the throne. She is Queen. Tom Marvolo calls himself Lord Voldemort. Narcissa is Warden of the East and Andromeda, Warden of the West. They...they…" James fell forward, pressing his face into her thigh, staining her dress crimson. He let loose raw sob of grief and rage.

"Mother...Father..." Lily breathed. He did not have to tell her. She knew.

Her parents had lied and she had always known it.

Lily had known from the moment that she left Hogwarts Castle, that she would never see them again.

The Slytherin family had started and ended a war.

The regime began.

* * *

**ON**

* * *

Bellatrix stared at her reflection, lips curled back in disdain. Dark shadows stained under her eyes, jowls hanging around her jaw. She was old, liver-spotted, the scent of decay caught in her nostrils. Bellatrix felt the presence of her brother behind her, heavy, overbearing and comforting. Bellatrix glanced at her brother, caught in the trap of his crimson gaze. She flushed, splotchy red spreading across her thin skin.

"Do it, sister. Wormtail has told us what we need to know," Tom Marvolo said, his grip on the short, balding man's arms tightening ever so much. The smaller man choked.

"I know," Bellatrix snapped. She softened under her brother's glare. "But, I do  _not_  know if the Mirror retains enough magic. The last guardian is nearly dried up."

Tom Marvolo's eyes narrowed at the doubt in her voice.

"Bellatrix. Find her. We know the location. It is in the Forbidden Forest. We need a visual. You are capable. Summon the visual to you with your own magic," Tom Marvolo commanded and Bellatrix nodded, firmer in her ability now.

She looked to the mirror and her purple eyes darkened, nearly black. She pressed her hand to the mirror and gasped when she felt the pulse of magic rush through her. This was a flirtation with death and it aroused her. Power coursed through her.

Bellatrix tossed back her hair and whispered the eternal words.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is fairest of them all?"

The glass rippled, the image of the Forbidden Forest flashing. Bellatrix's eyes darkened as she fed the mirror, its magic reaching back into her, blackening her heart and soul.

Tom Marvolo watched as his sister began to sway, tendrils of black slipping into her fingers, crawling up the inside of her pale arms, turning the veins there black. Corruption at its finest.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall, show me fairest of them all! Mirror, mirror, on the wall, show me fairest of them all!" Bellatrix chanted, shrieking with fury, eyes blown wide with magic.

The black magic pulsed within her and then the room was filled with an unnatural silence. It reminded Tom Marvolo of a night, just a little over a year ago-a night when the fires had all died for a long moment and then sparked into being of their own accord, raging wildly. Hogsmeade had nearly burned down that night.

Tom Marvolo stared at the focusing image. A tower. A tower that Tom Marvolo had seen once in his travels but, it had always looked decrepit when he passed. So, it was warded. The Founders were crafty.

The image zoomed in and Tom Marvolo laid his eyes on the woman that had evaded them for over a decade. The woman that was the fairest of them all. And for the first time in many years, Tom ached; he  _hungered_. He had to have her.

Her heart.

The woman was older but, her beauty had not diminished in her exile. It had grown into something so much  _greater_.

Snow.

Fire.

Jewel.

Her head of flames fell to her shin, gather on the floor. She sat now, bent over. Her red hair fell over her bared chest, and she held something, a bundle of blankets to her chest. It was as if she knew she was being watched as was hiding from them. She was staring far away at something, or someone, her lips moving. Bellatrix hummed; Lily took no notice of the magical spying. Bellatrix was not surprised. Lily was gifted with beauty, yes, and she was quite clever but her magic was nowhere near as powerful as Bellatrix and her brother's.

The glass of the mirror rippled and cleared. The glass dimmed until it was black as night and Bellatrix could no longer see her reflection. The Queen turned towards her brother, her eyes wide with excitement and her face flushed. She straightened her crown, feigning composure.

"Good, sister. We know where they are."

"Yes...you...you must go. You must go alone," Bellatrix said, breathing heavily, her sagging chest heaving. Tom Marvolo nodded once and he turned from his sister.

He needed his sword.

* * *

 

**THE WALL**

* * *

 

The dark night cloaked the Dark Lord as he flew through the forest, on the back of his horse. His sword bounced against his side as the horse galloped hard against the unnatural chill of the Forbidden Forest. His crimson eyes narrowed in concentration. The creatures of the Forest cowered in the face of his fury, and the might of his magic. As he drew closer to the wards that hid the Fairest from his view, he could practically taste his father's magic on his tongue.

His own father had hidden the key to his beauty and extended life.

Perhaps he should've killed him. The Dark Lord pushed his thoughts aside. His father was gone, exiled and suffering. That was greater than any death. The Dark Lord's wrinkled face twisted with a cruel smile as he grew closer, tasting the magic of the other Founders as well. It was potent and there was something…

Ah, so it wasn't just any wards. A Fidelius Charm. The Fidelius Charm was a powerful ancient enchantment but, the Dark Lord's desire was more so. The Dark Lord could feel the black magic that Bellatrix had channeled into the mirror breaking the charm down. It didn't matter when the Secret Keeper himself had spoken the words alive.

Whose clever idea had it been to make Lily's status as being alive the Secret rather than her location? Oh, most probably, Rowena. It seemed like something the cursed woman would do.

The Dark Lord squeezed his thighs against the side of the horse and leaned forward, urging it on faster. The beast obeyed easily. She was almost in his grasp.

He wouldn't be able to catch her off guard. Lily wasn't as powerful as him but, she was still a child of the Founders, and fire burned in her blood. She would feel his malicious intent and his Dark magic as soon as he broke through the wards. The Dark Lord didn't mind. He wanted her to know that he was coming for her, hunting her.

He saw the hazy film of the wards that hid Lily Gryffindor from him. The repelling charms descended, heavy on his shoulders. He pushed them aside and charged forward towards the crumbling tower. As he pushed through the wards, the Fidelius Charm warped around him, shattering, breaking and ripping apart at the seams.

He grinned as he looked up at the beautiful, unblemished tower, without a doorway and only a few windows at the top.

The Dark Lord felt her. Her magic called to him, burning fire reaching out and brushing against black ice. Time for the show.

* * *

 

**WHO IS FAIREST**

* * *

 

Lily was frozen.

Her son still nursed at her breast but, she could not move. Her husband smiled but, she could not move. Lily's face grew ashen as she felt  _him_ , the dark, oppressing magic sliding over her skin like thick oil.

"He...he found us. He's here…" Lily breathed.

James' smile froze and then cracked. He jumped, knocking back his chair and he scrambled towards the window, peeking out discreetly. James' stomach clenched and his head went hazy with despair when he saw the Dark Lord standing at the bottom of the tower. His hood was up but, James recognized the ornate hilt of the Dark Lord Voldemort's sword-it was the sword of the North, an evil thing that Salazar Slytherin had taken from the Tabooed of the North when he had defeated him. It had once had a name.

Voldemort's long yew wand was pointing up.

"Lily! Take Harry and Disapparate!" James commanded.

"I don't know how," Lily snarled, pulling her dress on as she spun into action. Her long hair tangled with her legs as she whipped out her wand, holding it defensively. "And he's not stupid. There'll be anti-Apparation wands."

"Lily go!" James shouted. "I love you!"

Lily looked at him, without tears in her eyes, only firm resolve. "I love you too," she whispered, and then she disappeared up the stairs to the lofted room, lifting her wand.

James watched in wonder as Lily constructed walls out of nothingness, warding the space, in an attempt to keep their child safe. Just as the walls finished coming into being, James caught his last glimpse of the fire of her hair and there was the loud crack of Apparation.

The Dark Lord was wrinkled and stooped. Streaks of silver ran through washed out watery brown hair and the man seemed to be growing older by the second.

"Ah...James Potter. I should have known," the Dark Lord murmured, his deep baritone trembling with rapid raging. James wondered if this was the Dark Lord's true age or some sick twisted magic that drained him.

"I won't let you hurt her," James spat, raising his wand.

The Dark Lord smile, a terrifying thing that might've scared James if he wasn't so frightened for his wife and child.

"You swore eternal loyalty to your queen and here you are, with the Phoenix, the daughter of a traitor to the regime," the Dark Lord said, coldly.

James looked at him, grim. "I did swear eternal loyalty to my queen. Lily is the rightful queen of the Empire if anyone. Bellatrix is the puppet you rule through."

The Dark Lord didn't seem angry. Instead, he smiled.

"And here I thought you were an idiot for all these years."

"Well, I'm not.  _Stupefy_ ," James snarled.

The bright red jet of magic flew at the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord shifted only slightly and the magic flew past his ear, sizzling. It crashed into the wall, causing the tower to tremble. Voldemort grinned.

"There was  _power_  behind that! You  _want_ to kill me!" he said, eyes alight with a terrible excitement. "But, you'll have to do better than that, Sir James.  _Reducto_."

James jumped, flinging himself away and flying behind the sofa. He cursed under his breath, staring at the large scorch mark on the ground. James spun up, shooting off a Cutting Curse. The Dark Lord batted the spell away easily and then follow it with a Disarming Charm. James cried out as his wand flew from his hand and into Voldemort's. He searched for his sword but a Summoning Spell made it fly from its place on the kitchen table to Voldemort's side. Voldemort tossed James' wand to the side and it rolled towards the cauldron.

"Where will you go now?" the Dark Lord taunted.

James glowered at the man. "You won't win, Voldemort."

He dove for his wand, turning his back on the man.

"Are you sure?" James heard the man whisper. " _Avada Kedavra._ "

The Dark Lord watched as James' body crashed to the ground. There was only silence. The Dark Lord stepped over the corpse towards the stairs. Lily's spellwork had not suffered in her exile. He walked up the stairs and met a solid wall of stone. Not even a door. Yes, Lily was still impressive but, she had never been strong enough for this.

Lord Voldemort drew his wand from the bottom of the wall, up, across, and then down again, burning a door into existence. He breathed on the carved stone and watched the brick and mortar melt away, crumbling in the face of his magic. The Dark Lord entered the bedroom and stared.

The room was dimly lit, just a two torches on the walls, over the large double bed. The sheets were still unmade, lived in. And there she was. Lily. He did not see her face, not yet, but he recognized her crown of flames, spilling down to her shins, heavy and glorious.

"Lily. We all thought you were dead," he said, his crimson eyes glinting in the flickering fire light.

"That was the point."

Lily turned slowly. Her bright green eyes were resigned. She looked as if she were ready to die. The Dark Lord frowned, annoyed by this. He enjoyed the fear before they died. This woman felt no fear. She was ready. The little bird had been ready too. She had given her life because he had asked for it.

"Out of curiosity—explain to me why you are here and why you are not afraid. You'll live longer that way," the Dark Lord said nonchalantly. Lily gave a cruel and hard laugh, unrecognizable from the innocent giggles he remembered sounding through the castle when she was still a child.

"I am ready to die. But I shall humour you. My parents and your parents and Aunt Rowena and Aunt Helga locked me in this tower to keep me away from you. I didn't know it was you until James told me what you had done. How you slaughtered my parents and Aunt Helga. How you destroyed the thrones and placed Bellatrix on that twisted thing that you created," Lily snarled, "Do you see what you've done, Tom Marvolo?" The Dark Lord's lips curled into a cruel smile and he took another step into the room, sighing.

"They call me Voldemort now," the Dark Lord said.

Lily sneered. " _You_ call yourself Voldemort now. But, I'll always know you as Tom Marvolo. You ruined my  _life_ ," she hissed.

"I did no such thing. I did not ruin your life. You ruined your own."

"In what way?" she asked spitefully. She kept her eyes on the Dark Lord's face, capturing all of his attention.

"You were born beautiful," Voldemort said carefully, "And so, you seal your own fate." Lily bit her lip and shook her head, trying to keep away the growing smile.

"It matters not. Kill me. Kill me now. There's nothing left for me. You've taken it all away, haven't you? My parents, my husband, and my empire. What more do I have? What more could you want from me?" Lily whispered.

Voldemort looked at her with narrowed eyes and an unfathomable expression. He did not answer, but Lily could not find it in herself to be curious any longer. She had a duty to her people. A duty to her son. She would die to protect her child and the Empire's only hope. The boy would learn his heritage and be the true, courageous Gryffindor that he had been born as.

"Tom, I'm waiting. I've been told that I'll die before I'm old...I'm not growing any younger," Lily said firmly. Voldemort nodded and lifted his wand.

Voldemort watched her for just a moment, but she showed no fear, even facing the deadliest wand that the Empire had seen in ages. She smiled.

" _Avada Kedavra._ "

Green eyes widened and then the Phoenix's expression froze in death. She dropped to the ground, a dead weight. The curve of her lips had never dropped into a frown. The Dark Lord stared for just a moment, feeling nothing. He squared himself, knowing what he had to do. He had to be careful about it. If he destroyed the heart in his haste, his efforts and years of waiting would be for naught.

He kneeled down next to the body and slowly pulled away his gloves, placing them on his lap carefully so as not to get blood on the leather. The Dark Lord pulled down the top of Lily's dress, feeling nothing at the sight of her small creamy breasts. The Dark Lord pulled the cursedly curved knife from his side and pressed it to her sternum before pulling it down her still warm body.

Blood welled atop her skin as he cut with care down to her navel. He frowned and brought the knife across her chest, cutting her once perfect skin away. He looked down at the bloody mess he had created and slowly pulled back the layers of skin until he caught sight of her blood covered ribs. Without care, he reached blood-stained hands into her body. He heard the sharp snap of her ribs as he broke them away, searching for his prize.

He reached down, ripping the heart from Lily's chest and staring at it with wide eyes. The Dark Lord brought his lips to it, lapping the blood from it slowly. He gave a sigh of contentment as he felt the magic working. He stood slowly, feeling steadier and stronger. He looked into the shattered mirror and his eyes widened with wild happiness.

The wrinkles were not all gone but his hair was thicker and though not as shiny as it would be soon, there were no lingering greys or silvers. His skin was no longer papery. It was pale, the skin of a man that was not even middle-aged. He looked far younger than his father had at his age, as if he had just come of age again and had ventured into a cave only moments ago.

Voldemort grinned a horribly bitter, yet satisfied, grin.

He would beautiful once more.

* * *

 

**OF THEM**

* * *

 

Bellatrix lounged in her throne, legs tossed over the arm of the monstrosity that her brother and sisters had constructed with her-the Gilded Throne was great terribly ugly throne but, that didn't matter. Made of bronze, onyx, silver, and gold, it was a mark of their reign. While Bellatrix would be beautiful forever, it reminded their subjects how ugly those before them were.

Sharp violet eyes surveyed the court. The lords and ladies were quiet, whispering amongst themselves. The Death Eaters watched, silent guardians and jailors. Bellatrix's lips curled into a gleeful smile as she caught the expression on Black and Lupin's faces. Little mutt fools. They exchanged meaningful looks, heavy looks that they thought no one could decipher. It just made Bellatrix's smile wider.

Black's mouth dropped open when the doors were slung open. The court jumped, falling into silence, staring in awe. Bellatrix swung off her throne, swaying as her violet eyes tracked her brother.

The Dark Lord was handsome in his youth. His hair was thick and black again. His face was only lightly lined, skin taut and pale without liver spots. He was tall and no longer trembled with age. Bellatrix ran a brittle gnarled hand through her salt and pepper locks, her curved nails combing through knots and snarls.

"B-brother?" she asked and she hated herself when her voice stuttered, vocal cords weak.

The Dark Lord walked up the dais and bowed, mockingly.

"Sister," he began, voice clear and strong. "I present to you...the heart of Lily Gryffindor."

Black gasped, looking at Lupin and Dumbledore in horror. Lupin took a step back, shaking his head in vicious denial. Bellatrix grinned horribly as she looked at Dumbledore's cold blue eyes, the way Dumbledore pulled Lupin away from Black.

Bellatrix's claw-like hand curled around the small bag, snatching it from Voldemort and cradling it to her chest. Voldemort's expression stayed stagnant as he watched her lips curl into a wide smile and she pressed a hand to his cheek, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction and dark victory.

"Oh, we thank you, brother. You're so good to us.  _So_  good to us," Bellatrix cooed. She peeked inside the bag, as if afraid that it wasn't what he said it was, and squealed when she saw what it was. " _So_  good, you did  _so_  good. So good to us. Let us have the first taste?"

Voldemort glanced over his shoulder at the soldiers lining the walls, the council waiting just before them. The court waited for him to speak. He shook his head and offered his hand to Bellatrix. Bellatrix grabbed his wrist and pulled herself up before racing forward giddily, dragging Voldemort with her. She paused and glanced at Narcissa, who stood with her husband clothed in blue and white, looking as frozen as ice sculptures.

"Sit upon the throne, sister. Go," Bellatrix commanded. Narcissa's eyes lit up as she swiftly walked towards the monstrous throne and sat upon it, clearly relishing in the cold, hard seat that was the symbol of the highest power.

"Yes," Lord Voldemort said, addressing the court. "We have found the fugitive, Lily Gryffindor, as proof of her death, I, your Lord, present her heart to Queen Bellatrix. Lily Gryffindor was harbored and kept alive by James of House Potter. James Potter, sworn to us, the House of Slytherin, betrayed his vows and married the fugitive, this 'Princess'. Tonight, we have eliminated a grievous threat to the empire with the assistance of Sirius of House Black and our  _loyal_  servant, Duke Peter Pettigrew of the Alley."

Black spun to look at Wormtail, eyes wide with terror. "What have you  _done_?" he whispered.

"Wormtail is loyal to us," Bellatrix hissed. "And we will not have traitors while we sit upon the throne. Execute him!"

The Dark Lord did not move. And then his lips curled into a smile, lifting his wand. "Wait.  _Crucio_."

Black crumpled and let out a terrible scream. The people of the court jumped and winced, holding back their own whimpers but, the Dark Lord's curse endured. Black writhed on the ground, as if his nerves were on fire, his body flexing with agony. Bellatrix knew what that curse felt like-white-hot knives being run along your skin, entering the fleshy parts of you, branding you with excruciating pain over and  _over_ again. She laughed; it started low, and built until her shrieks of amusement and Black's laughter couldn't be told apart.

And then, it ended, and Bellatrix's laughter crested into giggles.

"No, not death," the Dark Lord decided, voice soft. "We shan't let him off so easily for thinking to hide from us. Death is merciful, my love. Death is kind. We are neither."

Bellatrix nodded, eager to please and she smiled. "For Sir Sirius of House Black's act of treason, we sentence him one lifetime in Azkaban Prison. Our will be done," Bellatrix commanded.

Black rolled onto his side, curled into himself and he let out a terrible cough, blood spilling from his lips. He twitched with the aftershocks. Severus walked towards him, a pleased look on his face as he stared down at him and delivered a swift kick to his abdomen. Bellatrix broke into a fresh round of giggles. She glanced at her brother and sister. Narcissa's holier-than-thou sneer was a tiny smile. The Dark Lord watched, impatiently.

"You wish to speak. Speak your last," Voldemort commanded, looking at Black.

Black hissed in pain, mumbling again before he stilled, gathering his strength.

"There is something worse than a traitor," Black promised, growling through labored breaths. He pushed himself into a sitting position, practically slumping over into his own lap.

"Enlighten us," Severus said, flatly.

A small laugh emerged from the man, quickly transforming into huffs and yelps of pain. Black looked up, his face streaked with gore. "A tyrant. A tyrant is worse than a traitor."

"Tyrants are sole rulers," the Dark Lord said dismissively. "They are all-powerful. What does it matter if tyrants are worse? Tyrants have nothing to fear."

Black grinned a bloody smile, his eyes narrowed with defiance. "Sure. Except tyrant killers."

The Dark Lord glowered and nodded towards Severus. Severus Disapparated with a crack and Lord Voldemort offered his hand to his sister. Bellatrix took it, the burlap sack still close to her breast. Voldemort's eyes narrowed when he saw Dumbledore backing away towards the door.

"My Lord Dumbledore," Voldemort called, his voice so soft.

Dumbledore froze. "My Lord?" he asked, in his old, wizened voice, blue eyes bright.

"I advise you not to go anywhere. Lord Voldemort will know if you do," the Dark Lord purred. He looked at Narcissa and smiled. "Stand by the Warden's side. She shall watch you until Severus returns. Severus shall be our new Lord of Whispers."

"I have been Lord of Whispers long before you were born," Dumbledore protested, voice soft but, he did not dare to raise his wand.

"A new position has opened up for you. My sister and I must...prepare it for you. Do your duty. Aren't you loyal to the crown?" Lord Voldemort asked.

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed into a glower but he nodded. "Yes, my Lord."

Bellatrix laughed again, whooping proudly.

Bellatrix used her magic with wild abandon, Disapparating with him with loud cracks that shook the foundations of Hogwarts until they appeared on the seventh floor, staring at the blank wall. Pacing back and forth, she muttered to herself.

"This shall be our chamber. Brother, we shall live there, so that we may always see the mirror. We will," Bellatrix stammered in excitement as she paced a third time and the door appeared. Lord Voldemort watched his addled sister throw the door open and followed her as she descended into darkness.

She knew the way.  _They_  knew the way.

Bellatrix stumbled towards the mirror, caressing it before she turned, her back against the cool glass. She held her hands out, curved in such a way that in the dim lighting, they looked like claws. Bellatrix pulled the slightly bloodied heart from the small burlap bag and tilted it up so that the liquid that clung to it shone in the light.

The heart was greyer than the heart which Voldemort had ripped from the little bird's chest. It was also slightly bigger, though that made perfect sense. The little bird had been smaller, younger, and more fragile than Lily, though only in body, perhaps.

"Will you let us eat of it first?" Bellatrix whispered. Voldemort nodded.

Bellatrix cradled the heart in the palm of her hand before she licked a long wet line across it. She giggled at the taste before she took a deep, vicious bite of it. She didn't both to swallow before she took another bite, drool coming from the corners of her mouth as she chewed through the rough meat. She offered it to Voldemort with a slightly bloody smile and he took it from her, tearing it from her grasp before he ripped into it with the appetite of an animal.

As he ate the heart, he felt the stolen time seep into his veins. He looked up over Bellatrix's shoulder at his reflection and thought back to what Andromeda had said to their father.

Monster.

They were monstrously beautiful. That was what it meant to be a Slytherin.

So, Voldemort ate the bloody heart and smiled.

* * *

 

**ALL?**

* * *

 

Minerva Apparated directly into the tower the moment she heard the news. The Princess was dead, murdered, and Minerva swallowed her grief. It was not the time for such things. The servants, house elves and humans alike, had whispered about what had happened in the Great Hall, and so Minerva knew what she would find.

Minerva looked around the main room. The floor and walls were scorched with magical residue. They had fought then. Good. She sighed, long and hard when she saw James' body. His face was frozen in terror, eyes still staring at the staircase. Minerva stooped down, sliding her fingers over his eyes, shutting them.

Minerva squared her shoulders and she quickly ascended the stairs and stopped in the doorway.

Lily's eyes wide, still bright green in the flickering of the fire light. Red hair reached far, a halo around her body. Still, even in death, she was beautiful. But, the rest of her. She was naked from waist up, her chest cut open, revealing splintered ribs and her blood insides, drying in the cold air. The empty cavity where her heart had been made her look so lonely. Minerva then saw how some of the red of her hair was slick and sticking to the ground from the blood.

"How they've dishonored, my Queen," Minerva breathed, shaking her head. She lifted her wand, well-versed in cleaning spells and transformation.

The end of her wand glowed white, washing the room in it, and the blood dissipated. Lily's skin was washed of crimson and hr chest closed back up, knitting together. Her dress folded over her bare breast, and once again, she was beautiful Lily Gryffindor. Lily  _Potter_. Minerva took a step towards when she heard the soft cries. She fell to her knees immediately and reached under the large bed, pulling out the bundle. Part of the bed had collapsed upon him, she sighed. Only an annual old and he had already bled and seen battle.

Her lips pulled into a smile against her will, for she was a stern woman, even at the best of times. But, how could she not smile at this child? He was the most beautiful babe that Minerva had ever seen in her life. He had a jagged little cut on his forehead that she mopped up, gently. A lightning bolt. The greatest sign of fire. His beauty was a gift and a curse. Albus had trusted her alone with the secrets of the Slytherin twins' fascination with hearts of beautiful girls, and this child would be in an even greater danger.

Gathering the child close to her chest and promising herself that she would return with Hagrid to bury the bodies, Minerva Disapparated, hushing the babe's cries of discomfort.

She appeared in the small Muggle community of Little Whinging, a mocking name that the Queen had conjured when the Muggles had begun to complain of little food and harsh winters. It sat on the border of the North and East, far too Muggle for any of the Slytherin to ever care to visit.

Minerva walked the deserted streets, hunched against the bitter wind. She lifted her wand, doing a complicated little wave, and a burst of hot air warmed the babe's body as she stopped at one of the larger houses. She sat along the little stone wall that separated the home from the road, and stroked the babe's soft cheek. He was such a good boy; quiet and smiling. Poor child. He had no idea that his parents had been murdered. No idea that she was placing him with the  _worst_  of Muggles, all to protect him.

"You will understand one day," Minerva promised, "even if you hate me for it. It will prepare you, dear child, harden you, for the day that you shall meet him. He is known by many names-Prince, Dark Lord, snake, Slytherin,  _Voldemort_ -but you will face him. You are Hadrian Gryffindor, Heir to Albion, brave and true. They will bow before your might. The night you were born, you killed the summer and then, it was reborn again with your cries. You are Harry Wildfyre, the Fairest of Them All."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa. A wild chapter appears. So, basically, I got the backstory out of the way! On to the main event. We finally see Harry. But, barely, because he's a baby. A very cute baby though, according to literally everyone. So, I wrote a lot of stuff for Andromeda. I love Andromeda. The scene where they banished their father was to really flesh her out and then hint at some of their motivations. I was re-reading my old stuff and motivation was severely lacking. Also, some of the timeline/way I organized chapters, didn't really make sense. Like, I was confused about when things were taking place so, that'll be fun to decipher.
> 
> Anyway, I've already plotted and started writing the next chapter and, if I continue to work at my current pace, it should be out by tomorrow, even.
> 
> PLEASE REVIEW AND/OR KUDOS.  
> I need it to live.


	5. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild chapter appears!

The night that Princess Lily Gryffindor and James Potter were murdered marked the end of a light era and beckoned the beginning of a dark age. Fear descended upon Albion and hope was lost as the news of the death of the true Light Queen of Gryffindor spread throughout the land.

And while the empire mourned, Queen Bellatrix and the Dark Lord Voldemort took the former Lord of Whispers, Albus Dumbledore and sealed him within the depths of their mirror for all eternity.

When morning came, and the court assembled to break their fast, they were shocked to find the Slytherin twins returned to their former glory.

Bellatrix's crown rested atop a pile of luxuriously thick black hair, her skin tightened, and retaining a glow of health. Her womanly curve has returned, her bosom falling from her tight bodice, and her violet eyes were bright with bloodthirsty triumph.

The Dark Lord radiated power, crimson eyes shining like freshly spilled blood. He had always been a handsome man but, now, that beauty masked something great and terrible. The Dark Lord knew that, this time, their beauty and youth could be retained for decades at a time, with the heart from the only one more beautiful than they.

And years passed, the twins' rule casting a dark shadow over Albion. But, even in their rule of iron, murmurs of the rebellion grew-the Order of the Phoenix-and so did the rumors of someone else: the Fairest.

The young Prince Hadrian, known commonly as Harry, lived in ignorance for sixteen annuals, with the man and woman who believed to be his uncle and aunt, Vernon and Petunia. Petunia was the bastard daughter of a long forgotten House and, was without any magic, and so she held disdain for all those that could use it. However, her House had sworn fealty to Dumbledore's during the Founders' War, and she held some semblance of dishonor no matter how nasty of a person she was.

Petunia, grudgingly, took the child in, a babe who grew more beautiful with every passing day. Even when the child was the tender age of eight, Petunia had known that he would be most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. He was soft-spoken and kind, sweet yet fierce. He was the kind of babe that she wished she had given birth to. Instead of the boy's nature endearing himself to her, Petunia was repulsed.

Jealousy festered as he drew attention from the other villagers with his gorgeous looks and kind soul, and so, she turned her 'nephew' into her servant, in an attempt to humble him, and that he remained until the eve of the sixteenth anniversary of the Princess Gryffindor's death.

* * *

 

**MIRROR, MIRROR**

* * *

 

The Dark Lord Voldemort sat upon the monstrous throne, staring darkly at the tall, arrogant boy that stood before him. He exchanged disdainful glances with the two men on either side of the throne, and nearly smirked when Sir Severus Snape of House Prince rolled his eyes. The Dark Lord pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He waved his hand, giving the boy permission to speak.

The spoiled boy smirked and pushed the girl forward. "Uncle, greetings."

Voldemort hummed, inspecting his nails even as Draco squirmed, his nose wrinkled in irritation. "Welcome back, Draco. You're back sooner than expected."

"Well, I couldn't miss Mortem Phoenix," the boy said, excitedly. He rocked forward. "Where is Mother?"

"Your aunt and mother are in the middle of a council meeting," Voldemort drawled.

Lies. Bellatrix was probably raving again, and it was Narcissa's turn to still her mind.

"If it's about taxes, I have some ideas. In the Republic, they tax their Muggles, fairly-I'm not sure why-but, their creatures pay the most. It keeps them in line and-" Draco said, eager to please and Voldemort sighed, long and hard enough for Draco to fall silent.

Voldemort slowly looked up, his eyes trailing over the young woman at his side, her dark brown eyes boring so deeply into him, it was as if she were staring right through him. A messy bush of brown curls fell down her back, the simple blue dress that she was donning nearly hung off of her. She looked emaciated. Voldemort's lips curled back into a sneer.

"Draco, what have we said about pets in this castle?" Voldemort drawled.

Lucius snorted into his hand the court tittered. Even some of the servants preparing for Mortem Phoenix laughed at his barb. His smirk grew wider.

"I am not his pet."

The laughter ceased immediately.

The girl was staring at him now. Voldemort looked at her again; this wraith of a girl, with dark circles beneath her eyes that were ill-hidden by thick powder. A yellow bruise on her jaw was clumsily hidden by more cosmetics. And still, she stood straight-backed and tall, unflinching.

Draco flushed, lifting his pointy chin and he shoved the girl, roughly, causing her to stumble. "Do not speak to the Dark Lord Voldemort as if you-" Draco snarled, his hand clenching around her thin arm.

Voldemort lifted a hand and Draco fell silent, releasing the girl. The Dark Lord leaned forward, crimson eyes glinting in amusement.

"Then, what are you?" Voldemort asked.

The girl stared at him. "I am Hermione Granger. And I am not a pet."

Voldemort's smile widened.

"She's Lady Zabini's step-daughter. Lady Zabini remarried the Muggle, Daniel Granger. He was a well-known merchant in Gaul. She is a...Mudblood," Draco admitted.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. He remembered Lady Zabini well. The woman could not be called beautiful but, she was an attractive woman with a tight cunt. He remembered  _that_  exceedingly well. The woman was surrounded by varying tales about the unfortunate demises of her various husbands. It was suspected that she married and killed her husbands to amass her fortune and she was not below commoners or Muggles. It seemed that this particular commoner had a large fortune and she had kept the daughter because she would inherit it all at her majority as her majority, making Lady Zabini quite powerful, not monetarily, but politically.

"Lady Zabini's step-daughter. A Mudblood," Voldemort repeated slowly.

He could not afford to insult Lady Zabini. During the war, she had been generous with her galleons in exchange for getting away with cold-blooded murder.

"She is to be my wife. If you allow it, my Lord," Draco added.

"She is adequate," Voldemort said he swung himself of the throne and descended the dais until he stood right before the woman and his nephew. She was tall for a woman. She stared up at him, unafraid. "Now, Lady Granger, are you excited for Mortem Phoenix?"

"A celebration of the inevitable death of traitors. The anniversary of the worst traitor of them all, Princess Lily of House Gryffindor," Hermione said, her voice low and droning, as if reciting from a textbook.

"Are you sure you aren't of Albion, Lady Granger?" Voldemort asked, curiously.

Draco frowned in confusion, disapproval in the curve of his lip as he looked at his fiancee.

"No. I read," Hermione retorted, lifting her chin in defiance. She was a ghostly thing, so thin, but that was ferocity in her eyes. And wit. How  _interesting_. "Your 'holiday' is built on a thinly spun web of lies, Lord Voldemort."

"How so?" he asked, the edge in his voice silencing any mutterings for good.

"You killed her because she was beautiful. More beautiful than you," Hermione challenged.

Voldemort smiled then. "Draco, you do well for yourself."

Hermione Granger finally looked him in the eye. She was not frightened by his crimson eyes nor was she intimidated by the feel of his oppressing magic.

"Because her beauty and gentility was known even by my country. She was great and every knows greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, and spite spawns lies. This 'holiday'-your  _reign_ -is a lie," she spat.

Draco slowly turned to look at Hermione Granger and Voldemort raised an eyebrow when his nephew's hand flashed out, the back of his hand connecting with her cheek. Hermione's head snapped to the side from the force of the blow, blood marking her cut lip. Hermione staggered and then rocked back up, staring at her fiance, unblinking.

"You will learn,  _quickly_ , Mudblood, that it is better to stay silent," Draco snarled.

Hermione's lips pulled into a smile. "I shall wear this as a badge of honor," she promised.

Draco took a step closer to her, sneering at her. "Wear it in silence or I'll honor you again."

Voldemort raised his hand.

"Enough, Draco," he sighed, wearily, tired of his nephew's face. Draco flushed in embarassment and Voldemort turned back to the girl. "Lady Granger, you are far too intelligent for you own good. And you shan't be sorry for the words you spoke. I do think I enjoy flatterers but, I hate liars moreso. So, thank you, for not lying to me."

"Uncle, I apologize for my finacee," Draco stammered, needlessly, endlessly.  _Merlin_ , Voldemort loathed the boy. "I will discipline her further, I assure you."

"No need. You've already smacked her enough, don't you think, Draco? You're such a child, aren't you? Kicking your pets...I'm sorry, but, you aren't a pet, are you, Lady Granger?" Voldemort asked, crimson eyes glinting cruelly.

Hermione shook her head, firmly. Voldemort looked between his spineless, childish nephew and the iron-backed woman next to him and he smiled. This would be  _interesting_  and the Dark Lord had been dreadfully bored as of late.

"Very well," the Dark Lord drawled. "Draco, escort your fiancee to her rooms."

Draco's cheeks flushed with outrage. "But...but that's a  _servant's_  job. I won't do what we have Muggles or house elves to do."

Voldemort's crimson eyes narrowed in annoyance. He reached for his wand but, before he could curse Draco for his insolence, a bejeweled hand swooped down and squeezed his shoulder. Lucius stiffened.

" _Now,_ Draco," Narcissa hissed.

Voldemort looked at the tall, pale form of his youngest sister, her eyes chilly as she looked at her petulant child. Draco pouted and squeezed his fiancee's wrist tight, storming off with her.

"Bellatrix?" Voldemort asked.

Narcissa stared at him with cold blue eyes. She alone possessed their father's Northern eyes, pale and stormy like a blizzard.

"You should...brother, see her for yourself."

Voldemort gritted his teeth. Well, his answer, then.

* * *

 

**ON THE WALL**

* * *

 

Voldemort was swift in his pursuit, Disapparating straight into the hidden room that Bellatrix had claimed as her own. He looked around the grand bedroom and sighed. The spiral staircase, leading down into an abyss, revealed where she was. Her bedroom revealed just as much.

The room was a mess, the bed unmade and the pillows torn into pieces on the floor. There was a bucket of black bile just beside the bed. Bellatrix  _was_ ill. Voldemort wasn't quite sure how he had missed that, but he had. Bellatrix was odd, and she always had been. She did as she pleased, and so Voldemort had only thought that she didn't quite feel like coming out of her bed that day.

Voldemort turned back to the steps and he began to descend into the cold, hard dungeons and he watched in detachment as his breath began to frost the lower he went. Rearranging the dungeons had been easy after the second heart. Everything had been easier since the second heart and the unlocked magic that seemed to come with it. The walls of the staircase were lined with unlit torches and he wondered what had made his sister come down without at least  _lighting_ the torches. The darkness did not hinder him and his tongue flicked the air, tasting it. He could taste his sister in the dungeons and something else. He could not taste magic, but he could taste freshly spilled blood.

As he reached the bottom, he paused as he stared through the archway. The room was dimly lit unlike the staircase and he could only see the back of his sister. Her hair hung down her back in knots and tangles and she was wearing her dress from the day before. At her feet, was the corpse of a woman, her eyes still wide and reflecting the fear that Bellatrix inspired daily. The woman's mangled body looked like it had been ravaged by a pack of dogs.

"Sister?" Voldemort murmured, coaxing the wild animal.

Bellatrix didn't turn to look at her brother. She was shivering the cold air, running her fingers across the glass, smearing dark blood upon it as she spoke to her own reflection. Bellatrix froze and looked over her shoulder.

"Brother. Hello," she said with a bright smile, sounding pleasantly surprised.

She sounded so impossibly young.

Her lips were smeared with blood and sinewy strings of muscle were caught between her teeth. Dark blood stained the front of her dress and drying blood were trapped beneath her fingernails. Blood stained her shaking, calloused hands.

"Hello, Bella," Voldemort murmured gently and he watched as she shakily ran her bloody fingers through her hair, attempting to work out the tangles with overgrown nails. Tenderly, he pulled her hands out of her hair and held them in her own. She continued to shake and he looked down at her with pity. "What troubles you, my love? Speak to me, please."

Bellatrix slowly pulled a hand from his and pulled forward a single hair. Voldemort's eyes widened and he shoved her backwards, disgust and fear warring in his eyes.

"A grey hair. Bellatrix, we're growing older again. We threw up black. We can't eat. We can't sleep. Brother, we're scared. Why is this happening to us? Why?" Bellatrix whispered, a sob catching in her throat and she buried her face in his shoulder.

Voldemort looked over her head and stared into his reflection with narrowed eyes. Dark blue eyes flickered, twinkling cruelly and yet, still so full of grief.

"Bella…" Voldemort began. "You know as well as me, that everything comes in three."

"What do we do? The mirror will not answer us!" Bellatrix sobbed, slamming her fist so hard against the glass, it trembled in its golden frame. Voldemort reached forward, dragging her back and she brushed bloodstained fingers cross his cheeks.

"Tonight, Bellatrix. Bathe yourself, and tonight, there is a full moon. He will not able to resist answering. Do you understand, sister?" Voldemort demanded.

Bellatrix relaxed into his embrace, brushing her blood stained lips against his jaw.

"Y-yes, brother. I understand."

* * *

 

**WHO IS FAIREST**

* * *

 

He had an itch. A constant one, at the nape of his neck. The boy lifted his hand rubbing harshly and still, the itch remained.

"Hello!" he called. "Who's there?"

No one spoke back. And yet, Harry Evans could not shake the feeling that he was being  _watched_.

He sighed, staring up at the sky through the bright green canopy of the trees. Green like his eyes; at least, that's what Piers Polkiss and his gang of assholes said. Harry snorted. He'd never given a damn what Piers Polkiss had said before. Shaking them from his head, he lingered on the task at hand.

It was nearly time to go back to Little Whinging. He could hear the bustling of the marketplace already, and Petunia had demanded rabbit stew with potatoes for Mortem Phoenix. If he didn't move, he wouldn't skin and boil the rabbits in time and they'd be stuck with more cornmeal or a scrawny hen. Scrawny had no place in the Dursleys' home; only because Vernon and Dudley filled any possible space there was.

Harry snickered as he rocked to his feet and left the clearing, making his way down the dirt path back to the village.

Mortem Phoenix. His  _least_ favorite holiday. A celebration of the Death of the Phoenix was a cruel thing, made crueller by the executions that all had to watch by decree. Harry wasn't squeamish; Harry had gotten over that the time Dudley had pushed him so hard that he'd broken a finger when he caught himself.

Harry sighed as he continued down the dirt path. Tomorrow, he would be sitting on the floor in the crumbling manor house that the Dursleys called home and he would be forced to watch the ceremonies on the mirrors that the Crown made sure everyone had. Harry suspected that they used the mirrors to spy but, he would never dare say it out loud.

As Harry entered the village of Little Whinging, he hunched over, ignoring the stares. He rubbed his forehead, over the lightning bolt scar that he had always had. Harry swallowed hard and sighed, glad that he had traded already. It was much too busy and he hated the  _stares_.

"Hello, gorgeous."

Harry groaned and tried to change directions. The spotted youth stepped into his bath, a hopeful smirk on his face. Harry crossed his arms, unimpressed and unamused.

"Piers."

Piers Polkiss took a step closer, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry sighed, glancing at Piers' clammy hand in disgust. If he did anything more, Piers would just end up groping or fondling him. A shoulder was better than whatever Piers would try.

"You excited for Mortem Phoenix?" Piers asked.

Harry snorted in disgust. "Excited about a holiday that celebrates the death of the Princess of Gryffindor? That celebrates that death but executing  _more_ people? No."

Harry gently removed Piers' hand and turned down the road, making his way back to the Dursleys before they became angry with his absence. He didn't exactly fancy watching Uncle Vernon turn purple again. Piers fell into step with him.

"Why not? It's always cool and then, there's a big party afterward."

"A party that I don't go to," Harry reminded him.

Piers nodded. As Dudley's best friend, he knew exactly why Harry never went to the Mortem Phoenix jamboree or any other gathering that someone might throw.

He wasn't allowed to.

"But, I'm sure I can convince Mr. and Mrs. Dursley to let you go...if you go with me," Piers said. Harry stopped in tracks and faced Piers, slightly horrified at the boy's implications, at the look in his eyes. Piers leered at home.

"And what makes you possibly think that I'd want to go with you?" Harry asked. Piers sputtered and Harry turned on his heel. Jauntily, he smirked and called over his shoulder, "Have a good day, Piers!"

Harry burst into laughter that dimmed slightly as the Dursleys' crumbling brick fence came into view. He paused outside the grand, chipping door and straightened his threadbare clothes. Another mending seemed to be due. His brown doublet was falling apart at the seams, as it was Dudley's from when he was nine.

Harry looked at the mess of the garden. The day after tomorrow, he would have to rake. Winter was fast approaching and Harry hated raking wet leaves, and the dry leaves would be used to heat his little attic room. The iron gate was also creaking obnoxiously. He'd fix that too.

The beautiful youth pushed the heavy wooden door open and as soon as he crossed the threshold, his aunt Petunia descended, a heavy wooden spoon pointed at his face. Her horsey face was pulled taut into a haughty expression.

"Where were you, boy?" Petunia snarled.

"Why does it matter? I came back, right?" Harry retorted. Petunia blinked, a flash of surprise on her lips. She pursed her lips and sniffed.

"You shouldn't be going out. You've got work to do and besides, you could get hurt," she hissed.

Harry snorted in amusement as he made his way into the kitchen. He surveyed the mess. The fireplace needed cleaning again. He'd clear the ashes after he finished helping with today's supper.

"Don't know why you care. It's not like you give a damn enough about health to give me a decent room so that I don't freeze my bollocks off in the winter," Harry spat, grinning when his foul words shocked Petunia.

She glowered at him, shoving the wooden spoon into his hand. "Go finish the bread while I put the chicken to roast," Petunia growled. "And the fireplace is dirty."

"I  _know_ ," Harry retorted. He paused as he went over Petunia's words. "Whoa. There's chicken?"

"Yes. And you won't even get the bones if you don't get on with that bread," Petunia snapped and Harry nodded, darting towards the bowl of dough, a slight smile on his face.

Harry had never been  _denied_ food, exactly. But, he wasn't used to meat. Vernon and Dudley were huge, like the beached whales that Harry saw in some of the books when he went to the trading grounds. Vernon had been gone for a few days, making money as a salesman for the lords and ladies in the city of Hogsmeade. Harry smirked, wondering how Vernon was being treated since he was a 'lowly' Muggle, just like the rest of them.

"What are you smirking at, boy?" Petunia hissed, irritated as she hefted the large chicken over to the fireplace, hanging it on the iron hook. She bent over, attempting to start the flames.

"Nothing, Aunt Petunia," Harry sang. He smothered a laugh against his sleeve as he braided the dough. He sighed. It was lopsided but, at least, it would be edible. "Aunt Petunia, may I ask you a question?"

The fire still wasn't sparking and Petunia was still ignoring him. Harry huffed, his nose wrinkling as he watched his aunt work. Suddenly, the flames leapt into being, dancing merrily and Petunia jumped back, surprised by the sudden burst of heat. She glowered at him, as if it were  _his_ fault. Harry lifted his hands in surrender.

"One," Petunia bit out.

"Why do you want to keep me safe so badly, when you don't even like me?" Harry asked as he set the braided loaf to the side and moved on to the next one. He paused when he saw how stiff Petunia was.

She stared at him, shaking herself at the question, her blonde curls bouncing around her long, horse-face. She smoothed her starched blue dress, fiddling with the ties of her apron. She was  _nervous_  about something and Harry wished that her cornflower blue eyes would meet his so that he could see her truth.

Petunia sighed. "A promise."

* * *

 

**OF THEM ALL?**

* * *

 

The black marble floors were run through with veins of silver. It was cold beneath her feet, like black sheets of ice. The strength of the wind raddled the panes of glass set into the French doors of the balcony. It was the night—the perfect night. Magic was not silent when it descended upon kingdoms.

No, Magic knocked.

And it had to be let in.

She crossed the bedroom floor—ice, black sheets of ice—and long, elegant fingers turned the knob. The door swung crashed open with a heavy clatter and the wind—the Magic—whipped around her. But, the silk nightgown and her thick sheet of black hair was undisturbed. No, the wind crawled down her spine, made her nipples harden underneath the thin fabric, creating peaks. She shuddered with pleasure.

"Welcome, friend," she breathed in greeting.

The air whistled back, kissing her cheeks rosy red. Slowly, she shut the door again and stared past the frosty glass into the dark night.

The sky did not sparkle with a million stars—those were nights when fairytales were born. This was the night of nightmares, of Magic-personified.

She pulled the heavy velvet curtains shut, harsher than necessary. The woman turned and walked towards her bed, the slit up the black skirt revealing the long wand strapped to her alabaster thigh. She fell onto her bed, sitting at the very edge, long hair pooling in her lap. The woman pulled the wand free and twisted it through the air, pulling and tugging at something.

The entire room, from the ash-colored wallpaper to the black marble floors, twisted and inverted, shifting into something else. There was a loud crack and the floor parted like the sea. The black marble melted into a spiral staircase, leading down in the deep, dark unknown.

The woman smiled, sliding her wand back into the thigh holster and began her descent, all dark grace, as she had a hundred times before. As she made her way down the steps, the marble slotted together with a slam, throwing her into the darkness. The woman did not mind.

She knew the way.

As she drew closer to the bottom, she could see the pale fluttering light of the eternal torch that marked the end. Her violet eyes brightened with obsessive madness. The madness disappeared when she entered the simple room.

The circular room was of roughly cut grey stone, pushed together rather clumsily by magic in her youth. Against the curved wall to the left was a dark wooden table, a bubbling cauldron resting atop it. Next to the cauldron was bust. The woman placed her wand beyond the bust and reached for the diadem, presented garishly atop of the bust of its former owner.

The woman smirked in amusement at her own twisted humour.

The head, the pretty little head, and the rest of the body rested in the ground now, beneath years of rot.

The woman could remember the body, skirts heavy from melted snow and chest ripped wide open, ribs cracked to reveal the empty cavity where the pretty girl's should have been. She had died with a bloody smile on her face—that was one thing the woman could say about the pretty, irritating girl.

The pretty girl, with her pretty body and her pretty, pretty heart, had looked Death in the eye and smiled.

The woman lifted the diadem and placed it to her crown, atop thick, shining hair. Finally,  _finally_ , she looked at the grand piece of her collection of stolen baubles, deep in the dungeons of her stolen palace.

The mirror was tall and narrow. The words atop looked to the common like simple gibberish.

_ERISED STRA EHRU OYT UBE CAFRU OYT ON WOHSI._

To the common witch or wizard, it would show only their 'heart's' desire. But, the woman was no fool nor was she common.

With a guardian, the mirror took its true purpose and placed in the depths of Hogwarts Castle, it fed upon the ancient magic, its power amplifying.

For a long moment, the woman simply admired herself, staring at her curves wrapped in black silk, her long black hair, the glittering of the stolen diadem. Her ample bosom, exposed by the low neckline, her nipples peaking beneath the thin fabric from the chilly air. She stared at herself with heavy-lidded eyes and smiled, pleased. Her youth was coming along quite nicely.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall…who is fairest of them all?"

The woman's reflection rippled, revealing electric blue eyes, laden with grief and sorrow.

"You are the fairest. But there is another…" The old, wizened voice creaked from the mirror and the woman's dangerous violet eyes narrowed, a sneer twisting her beautiful face.

" _What_?" the woman hissed.

"Famed is thy beauty, my Queen, but one, sure to be lovelier, I see. More beautiful than thee. Dirt and smudge shall not hide strength in magic and grace. Alas, another is fairer inside and in face," the rasping voice said and the woman heard that terrible thing called hope in between his words.

Rage stirred low in her belly. She tasted the bile at the back of her tongue and spat at the mirror.

"The name, you fool!" she roared. "Show me the name and face of this creature!"

"You know that I cannot answer without a question."

The woman spat again, spittle trailing down the glass. "Mirror, mirror, on the wall…reveal the name of the fairest of them all!" she snarled in fury.

The mirror rippled again.

The woman leaned forward, peering into the mirror's image. Her lips parted in surprise as she stared at the young man, sitting in the middle of a field, leaning his face upon his palm as he tore the grass into shreds. And though he had a pair of ugly round glasses sitting on his nose, he was  _beautiful_ , indeed.

"Red as rose. Black as ebony. White as snow, so to speak. Harry Potter is the one you seek."

The woman glared at the image and she ran a sharp gleaming red nail along the curve of the young man's face. The young man suddenly looked up, as if he had sensed her spying. He had such brilliant green eyes, the kind of green that reminded her of fresh leaves and grass and summer— _beauty_.

She glared and scraped her nails across the glass, distorting the image and banishing it from her. The electric blue eyes returned, staring at her. She spun around towards the bookcase, but did not move.

Did any of the books hold any answers for her?

"Ask the final question, my love."

Dark crimson eyes stared at her from the shadows. She could not see that handsome face—not dark wavy hair nor his strong pale jaw, but he was there.

"Yes, brother," she whispered. "Mirror, mirror, tell me this…how shall I return to former bliss?"

"Consume his heart and you shall live forever, Queen Bellatrix."

Bellatrix's eyes widened. So simple. And history repeated itself once more. She laughed. Her laugh, deep and guttural, chilled men to its bones and set their loins alight. This was something she knew, deep in her marrow, just as she had known what the answer would be. She had  _known_.

For she had done it countless times before.

Queen Bellatrix of Albion turned to her brother and stared at his dark crimson eyes. He stared at the mirror, and she could see his lips pull into a gleaming smile. That was all he was—blood eyes and white teeth.

And he whispered, "Well done, Mirror."

Bellatrix watched her brother drift into the low light, his eyes focused on the darkness of the mirror. She tilted her head in curiosity, searching for any signs of praise for  _her_  but, she still he looked at the dark glass.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?" Voldemort whispered, as if the words he spoke were holy.

The mirror rippled again, revealing this 'Harry Potter', and Bellatrix felt something hot and terrible uncoil in her belly.

Her brother's eyes bright with undeniable, carnal hunger for this boy. Bellatrix knew what lust looked like. She had experienced it, felt it wet her thighs and burns her from the inside-out. It consumed Voldemort. He did not try to hide it, not from her. His eyes burned, his cheeks were flushed with arousal. Her eyes fell to his crotch. His cock twitched in his tight trousers. He  _wanted_ this boy.

He wanted him in a way that he would never want  _her_.

"You will find him and kill him, yes?" Bellatrix simpered. He did not look away from the image and she  _burned_  with fury. "Bring his heart back to us?"

Voldemort hummed, taking a step closer.

Bellatrix spun, glaring at the unsuspecting beauty. So unconcerned. So  _unobservant_. He was  _nothing_ special.

"Eternal life, Tom. Life and beauty," she snarled. His true name caught his attention and he looked at her. Bellatrix grinned when the image of Harry Potter fizzled away. She walked up to her brother, cupping his face in her hands and she leaned up, pressing her lips to the corner of his mouth. He stiffened under her hands as she breathed in his scent, drawing her lips down his jaw, whimpering. "Promise me…"

He nodded. "Yes. We will consume his heart…"

"Tomorrow, Tom.  _Tomorrow_ ," she hissed, dragging her tongue down his jaw. How far would he let her take it, she wondered. Tom pretended, oh he  _pretended_  but, he always gave into her whims.

He took a step back, holding onto her shoulders. "Tomorrow, I will set out, after the morning ceremonies. And by nightfall, we shall consume his heart just as we consumed his mother's sixteen years before. I promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is much shorter than the last two-shorter by 2000 words but, the next chapter DEFINITELY makes up for it, so look out for that, probably tomorrow or Saturday morning. I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Please review or drop a kudos!


	6. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very clearly on fire.

Hermione cleared her throat, expressionless as the ladies spun around her, cooing over the jewels and silks and velvets that Draco had thrown at her. They picked over her 'gifts' like vultures. She would give them all of it if she could get away from it. She lifted her gaze to the young girl that was attempting to tame her bushy curls; a difficult task to be sure if one wasn't accustomed to such things.

She did not offer to help. A princess did not do what others would do for her. That was what Draco told her the first time she had tried to help a scullery maid on the ship from the Republic to the port city, Velothi, in the East. He had smacked Hermione so hard her teeth had rattled and then had dragged the maid by her hair, humiliating her.

Now, Hermione knew better. She knew better than to help and she knew better than to give the servants a hard time. She knew what it was like to be treated like dirt and she would not be a reason for Draco to be more of a brat than he already was. After all, she knew what it was like to be a servant; she had been one since the day of her father's untimely death.

"What is your name?" Hermione asked. The young maid blinked her owlish grey eyes and smiled, sweet and empty.

"Luna Lovegood, your Highness," the girl giggled, pushing a blonde strand of hair behind her ear.

Hermione snorted. "No need to call me that. I'm not a princess yet. I'm just...Hermione Granger."

"You're not just anything," Luna said, dreamily. "One day...one day."

"One day?" Hermione asked.

Luna shook her head and reached for the Sleekeazy pomade on the vanity, smearing the white potion over Hermione's hair and sighing, proudly when it began to straighten out. Luna began to twist her hair into four elaborate braids.

"You are a brave woman, Lady Granger," Luna said.

Hermione's sharp eyes locked with Luna's grey eyes in the mirror. Luna wasn't lying. Hermione could see the genuine kindness in her eyes; she  _believed_ what she was saying. Hermione sighed, looking away.

"You're mistaken. If I were brave, I would have run from the Prince a long time ago."

If Hermione were brave, she would've run from the Prince and Lady Zabini and her idiot step-brother. No, instead, Hermione escaped through books and was clever enough to survive but, never truly live. Luna snorted, shaking her head as she weaved Hermione's hair into a bun across the top of her head.

"You stood up to the Dark Lord Voldemort. That...is a very brave thing," Luna said.

Hermione stared at her reflection. She didn't recognize herself. This thin ghost of a girl with bruises hidden by powders and creams. She missed her hair, frizzy and wild and free or pulled back into a braid. Her stomach turned; this was a  _princess_  that stared back at her. Again, she cursed that moronic, busybody witch, Fleur Delacour, for even  _suggesting_ that they go to that stupid ball in the first place.

"The Dark Lord is…" Hermione trailed off, looking around at the bustling servants. They didn't seem to be paying any mind to her. It only aroused her suspicions.

Lady Zabini was cruel but, she had taught Hermione well on how to pick up information that she wasn't supposed to know. In the Republic, Lady Zabini wasn't known as the Black Widow for nothing.

"The Dark Lord is?" Luna prompted. Hermione shook her head, refusing to answer. Luna nodded and reached for the thick chains of silver, looping them around Hermione's neck like a collar. "The Dark Lord is defensive about Mortem Phoenix. Gold would be better for your coloring but, gold on this day would irritate him."

"How petty," Hermione said, snippily.

Luna smiled. "Irritating him means enraging Bellatrix. She has...rages. Tantrums, really. She nearly hit me once. He stopped her," Luna explained. She sighed. "The Dark Lord has always been kind to me."

"He doesn't seem like a kind person," Hermione said, her nose wrinkling.

Luna smiled. "He is not but, nevertheless, he had always been kind to me. He saved me. When I was a child. From persecution."

Hermione straightened, her curiosity piqued. She straightened. "How?"

"Well-" Luna started.

There was a crack and all the servants shrieked. Luna did not. She turned, her big grey orbs settling on the little house elf. Hermione's heart ached as she stared at the little brown creature wringing his hands and staring with big green eyes.

"D-Dobby has been told to let Princess Granger know that the Warden is here!" the house elf squeaked before he Disapparated immediately.

"The Warden? She's here? The Warden?"

"She returned. Sixteen years…"

"The  _Warden_."

The handmaidens burst into whispers. Luna was silent for a moment before she spun into action, snatching an enormous turquoise dress, heavy velvet and brocade fabrics. Luna hummed, inspecting it and nodding.

"The Warden?" Hermione asked.

Luna looked up, her eyes flashing. "Princess Andromeda, the Warden of the West. Come, Lady Granger. It's time to dress."

* * *

 

**MIRROR**

* * *

 

Voldemort glanced over at his sister. Bellatrix smiled at him. She was washed clean of the blood around her mouth and beneath her nails. Her hair was washed and braided elaborately, like Southerner. His lips curled with distaste. Bellatrix was Northern-looking and still, she tried to appease to the fashion of outsiders, of the court, as if she wasn't the one that was supposed to set trends. Voldemort pushed these thoughts from his mind, focusing on the old crone, McGonagall.

"What is it, now?" Voldemort sighed. "Is the feast prepared or has a house elf burned it  _again_?"

"No, your Grace. Your Imperial Majesty, something else," McGonagall said. Voldemort's lips quirked into an amused smirk. She was an old woman, and had no problem showing her distaste.

Bellatrix sighed, bored. "It's Mortem Phoenix. There is little time to prepare so, whatever you bother our brother for shall be important," Bellatrix threatened, drolly. Her eyes flashed. "Or I'll cut out your tongue, crone."

McGonagall sneered. "The Warden of the West arrives with a caravan. Rooms are not prepared for her household."

Voldemort's smile slipped away and he stiffened.

After sixteen years, his sister had come home.

He could hear them entering and McGonagall stepped to the side. The court split down the center, all eyes trained on the doors to the Great Hall. The enormous doors, nearly two stories high swung open.

"Announcing, Her Grace, Princess Andromeda, Warden of the West!"

The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed as the woman entered and eyes fell on the infamous Warden. Andromeda did not shy away from the gazes. She revelled in them. Her exile had been self-imposed, and she was back in court on her own terms. Of course she revelled in her rare win against her brother.

The Warden looked only slightly older. Her hair was light brown and normally wild. She had tamed it with the braids of a warrior woman. There were wrinkles at the corner of her eyes but, that was the only part of her that spoke to her age. The Warden wore a long dress of chainmail that bared her arms. She sported pauldrons on either shoulder. Her lady carried the broadsword that she had fashioned herself.

Her dark eyes still held grief and stony rage.

The Warden halted with her party when she was just in front of the raised dais where the twins waited for her. Bellatrix leaned forward, a terribly wicked smile playing on her lips. Andromeda return it, quieter and kinder.

She swept into a low curtsey, her eyes never leaving Voldemort's face.

"Your Imperial Majesty...Sister, dear."

Bellatrix rose and crashed forward, gathering her sister into a tight hug, an unhinged smile upon her lovely face.

"Oh, Andromeda, it's been so long since we've seen you," Bellatrix whispered. Voldemort's eyes narrowed further as Andromeda's gaze remained on him. "We hope you won't leave so soon."

"Of course not, Bellatrix. I've missed you as well. We've come so far, from across the Narrow Sea, and it will take some time to create more Portkeys and to gather more provisions," Andromeda said, voice sharp. She kissed Bellatrix's cheek. "Yes, I decided it was high time that I visit our family."

"Not that this isn't touching, but Bellatrix, please show some semblance of decorum," Voldemort bit out, nastily. Bellatrix jerked away from her younger sister, flushing.

"Our apologies," Bellatrix murmured. She peeled away, slinking back onto the throne, falling into it lazily.

The eldest of the Slytherin siblings looked at his opponent. Andromeda leaned forward, vibrating with anticipation. Voldemort reminded himself that this wasn't his passive little sister that had run away thrice-twice for a man and once out of grief. This was a woman that battled on the behalf of the West, dealing with skirmishes served by the Order with an iron fist. She was the Warden, in all ways that Narcissa was not. Voldemort stared at the pretty girl that held Andromeda's sword. That sword, forged in Gubraithian fire, had executed many that thought they could stir trouble in her territories; the Order and his own knights alike.

"Well, if it isn't my beloved brother, Lord of our glorious Empire."

The mockery permeated even the way she stood. Bitterness twisted her mouth and the court shifted uncomfortably. Her household didn't even flinch, except for the pretty girl that flushed under his gaze. She had trained them well.

"What are you here, Andromeda?" Voldemort drawled.

Andromeda smiled. "I've missed you so  _much_. Must have I any other reason?"

Voldemort stared, his crimson eyes burning as fury stirred within him. Andromeda stared back, dark eyes devoid of anything but haunting grief; the type of grief that ate away at her being.

Voldemort had put that there.

"I wish you would've told us. We don't have any rooms prepared for you. How long will you be staying?" Voldemort asked.

Andromeda hummed. "Some weeks, I think. I have left my most trusted, our cousin, Regulus, in my stead. No matter about rooms. We have brought tents. I will prepare my own rooms in the castle; my lady will stay with me. The rest of my household is hardened. Tents is all we need. Now, come greet us, brother."

She held out her hands, smiling. Voldemort growled low in his throat and moved towards her, taking her hand. She leaned into him, brushing her lips against his cheek until they were just above his ear.

"I remember it so well," she rasped. "The blood, on the carpet. Right in front of the dais, you beheaded Godric and then Bella murdered his wife. Narcissa...she's always been a cruel one, though you ignore it. Tortured Helga. I gave her mercy. Do you remember?"

"I remember," Voldemort whispered.

"I spoke about monsters. What monsters they've made us all," Andromeda rasped. She pulled back, clutching his face and smiled. "I can still taste it on my tongue. Your rage. So full of fury. What are you angry at?"

Voldemort grabbed her wrist, tearing her hand away from his skin. He glared at her. "Andromeda…" he warned.

"I'm home, brother. Kinslayer," Andromeda whispered.

Voldemort smirked. "You mean 'Kingslayer'."

Andromeda barked out a hard laugh. "I mean what I say... _Kinslayer_."

* * *

 

**MIRROR**

* * *

 

She pushed her way through the packed crowds, keeping her eyes peeled for the procession. Her nose wrinkled as the scent of piss and filth threatened to overwhelm her. Even breathing through her mouth wasn't the best option-she could taste the sourness of Hogsmeade on her tongue. She turned her gaze. Less than league away, protected by gates was Hogwarts Castle, a place in constant summer even while the city freezed.

She was so close, she could taste it, along with the sourness of poverty. It was better than she had come instead of Ron. Ron wouldn't have been able to control herself, being so close to the source of their problems and unable to end them.

Nymphadora Tonks pulled her blood red hood over her short, spiky pink hair. It was better not to draw attention to herself. Her dark eyes scanned the crowd for a target but, she couldn't find anyone useful just yet. Tonks relaxed against the wall of the tavern, pressing her lips into a pout and twitching her nose. She squirmed uncomfortably as she felt her breasts grow, just enough that she was nearly spilling out of her bodice, her lips plumped.

Someone would come to her, then. They always did.

Toks sneered as the oblivious crowds, smelling of shit and ash, drank their ale and ate their pastries, ecstatic about something so damn  _barbaric_. They were all fools, Muggles and magic-users alike, and those who knew what Mortem Phoenix truly was, but still dance, were even more so.

"You there. You're a pretty one, aren't ye?"

Tonks smirked. They always came to her. The drunken knight stumbled towards her, eyes glued to her swollen chest. Tonks leaned forward, a winning smile on her face. Right now, she wasn't Tonks. She wasn't clumsy or funny. She was seductive and beautiful.

The man was half a head shorter than her. Perfect. A better angle to stare at her tits, then.

"And your name is, sir?" she purred, brushing her fingers along his filthy whiskers, wet with liquor.

"Anything you want it to be, pretty one," he slurred. Tonks rolled her eyes. A knight, sure, but a drunken Auror as drunk as he wouldn't serve her purposes.

Best to observe then.

"No interest if you're drunk," Tonks drawled. "And you're rather tiny, aren't you? Who's to say that the rest of you isn't as well?"

The man blinked a times before he growled, spurned by her dismissal of his manhood. He reached out and grabbed her wrist, jerking her forward roughly. "What you say, bitch?"

Tonks grinned. A fight?

But, no, she reminded herself. She couldn't fuck this up. Tonks only reached with her free hand into her pocket and pulled forth her wand, pressing it to the underside of the Auror's chin.

" _Obliviate_ ," she whispered and then, the Auror's eyes glazed over. He twitched for a moment and took a step back, dazed.

Tonks twitched her nose again and her hair darkened to a violent purple and grew to her shoulders. Her breasts shrank again and her mouth thinned to her true mouth. She slipped back into the crowd, moving forward towards the road.

"Look! The prisoners!"

Tonks looked up and trembled when she saw them. Leading the party was the hard face of the infamous Rodolphus Lestrange, the pale white scar running through his right eyes and ending at his jaw, livid against his tanned skin. His face was a perpetual grimace and Tonks suddenly remembered falling rain and steel clashing, sparks flying. Tonks took a step back, pulling her blood hood up tighter around her face.

Tonks' eyes darted towards the jail wagon and her stomach clenched. They were filthy. Dirty rags were tired around their faces, blood and shit crusted in their tunics. Their red beards were nearly black with blood. Maggots crawled through the tangled mess. The phoenix tattoo on their arms were bared to the world. Tonks was sick to her stomach.

Azkaban had not been kind to her brothers-in-arms.

And they were lost to her. That was clear.

The Dark Lord had made his move. A declaration of war. That was all Tonks needed to hear.

* * *

 

**ON THE WALL**

* * *

 

Harry looked down at his rabbit stew and nodded at the taste. It was good, well-spiced and hearty enough to satisfy his beastly relatives. Enough that they couldn't fault him for a full bowl of it too. Good. Harry shivered despite the heat of the flames. He always felt odd on Mortem Phoenix, like he was being set on fire and yet, still so cold.

"Boy! Get in here! The ceremony!"

Petunia's shriek rang through the house and Harry nearly dropped his spoon. He bent down, attempting to calm the flames but, it settle before he could even throw ash onto it to put it out some. Without time to consider another strange encounter with the flames, he dashed towards the open sitting area. The green-eyed beauty hummed, preparing himself for Mortem Phoenix.

And the anniversary of the day that unknown people had dumped on the Dursleys' doorstep.  _Joy._

Harry sighed and entered the sitting area, taking in the entire family gathered on the lumpy hay stuffed sofa. Dudley sat on one end, his face flushed pink, bursting out of his jerkin, and Uncle Vernon sat on the other end, twiddling with his oversized moustache. Stuck between the two fat men was his rod-thin Aunt Petunia, nearly crushed by the excess flesh.

"On the floor, boy," Vernon snarled, pointing a big sausage-like finger. Harry slid onto the floor and, not for the first time, he wondered how the man and his son could be so large when there was rarely enough food for all of them.

There was a knock on the door and Dudley, the giant blond pig, darted up as if he were an eager puppy. Harry was impressed. Dudley was a giant lump of nothing, usually, and the fact that he was getting the door deserved a damn award.

Harry's mood blackened. Dudley's gang of idiots lumbered in, shouting and yelping at each other. They fell all over-Malcolm, Gordon, and  _Piers_. Piers elbowed Gordon and Malcolm, nodding at Harry and they leered at him. Harry shifted uncomfortably and pulled his legs closer to his chest. They looked at him like he was meat; something be devoured, consumed.

The gang greeted Petunia and Vernon.

"Fine, strapping young men," Vernon grumbled with a smile and Petunia simpered, asking after their mothers and the like. They crowded towards the couch, Piers setting himself on the floor right beside Harry.

"Hey, Harry," he said, voice soft.

"It's starting," Harry said, instead, looking towards the mirror.

The Slytherin banner flashed in the glass for just a second before the reflection rippled and revealed the gilded Great Hall of Hogwarts Castle. Harry was torn between envy and disgust as he caught sight of all the magical lords and ladies of court, drinking wine and cubed cheeses and quail. Indulging themselves while the god people of Little Whinging had nothing. The courts quieted as the brass sounded and they floated towards the sides, nearly standing shoulder to shoulder with the servants that served them.

The Gilded Throne-such a monstrosity-sat upon a dais. Below the dais were four chairs, where there were normally two-one for Princess Narcissa and the other for her son.

Harry watched as the doors to the Great Hall swung open. The Inner Circle of the Knights of Walpurgis paraded in, in complete sync. Their eyes were hard as the armor and battle robes they wore and their arms were bared. Harry stared at the tattoo; a skull with a snake escaping. The  _Death_ Eaters.

Lord Lucius of House Malfoy and Sir Severus Snape of House Prince split and stood on either side of the long walkway. Lucius barked out a command and the Death Eaters all pulled their wands and swords. They crossed their wands over their chest and held their swords high, touching the tips of them, as if forming an archway.

Princess Narcissa, Warden of the East emerged. Her platinum blonde hair was braided down the side of her face. She looked even paler in her ice blue gown, layered with silks and scarves of navy blue. Her lip was curled, as if she smelled something terrible. Perhaps her upper lip. Harry smirked. She was a cold woman, a polished diamond.

Narcissa stood before her silver chair.

Harry looked as the focus shifted. He gaped.

The Warden of the West. Princess Andromeda had a kinder facer than her younger sister, no matter that she was battle-hardened. Her heavy brows were pulled into a tight frown. Her brown curls had been tamed into the braids of a warrior, and her dress was made of chainmail. She carried her sword, the sword that she supposedly used to execute people herself with. She stopped in front of her own chair and they waited.

Finally, Prince Draco emerged, guiding an unknown young woman down the aisle.

"The Prince is engaged to be married?" Petunia asked.

Dudley snorted. "She's rather bony, isn't she? Like a common girl. Don't Princes marry ladies, Mum?"

"That prince doesn't," Harry said.

Piers laughed, brushing against him. Harry grimaced and turned his attention back to the mirror.

The Prince looked around, his grey eyes haughty, his chin pointier than ever. He wore the finest leather boots that Harry had ever seen and he couldn't help feeling a pang of jealousy. Harry stared at the woman arm-in-arm with Draco. Her dress was  _ugly_  and voluminous, layers upon layers of skirts. She stood stiffly, her eyes staring straight ahead but, she seemed unaware of her surroundings.

Prince Draco guided her to her chair and he stood in front of his own, smug.

And then the Queen and the Dark Lord.

Queen Bellatrix the Beautiful moved down the aisle, dressed in black and purple. A crown of diamonds and onyx adorned her lovely hair and she sneered at the court. Even with an ugly expression, she was still one of the most beautiful women that Harry had ever seen.

The Dark Lord walked by her side, his hand resting on the hilt of his claymore, Horcrux. His crimson eyes glowed and Harry shivered. Since he was a child, those crimson eyes had always terrified him. Harry watched some of the ladies and lords of the court swoon as the Dark Lord scanned the crowd. So, it wasn't a problem for some people, then.

The Dark Lord guided Queen Bellatrix up the stairs and settled her onto her throne. As soon as she sat, the entire court broke into raucous clapping, bowing and curtseying. The Death Eaters sheathed their wands and swords and stepped back, allowing space for the prisoners. The four-the Warden, Princess Narcissa, Prince Draco, and the girl-sat down in unison, eyes cold, ready to pass judgment.

"What have you brought us this Mortem Phoenix?" Bellatrix asked, speaking those holy words that she asked every year.

"Fabian and Gideon of House Prewett, your Imperial Majesty," Lord Rodolphus of House Lestrange announced, his voice cold. He stepped out of line, into the middle of the walkway.

Harry could hear the rattling of the jail wagon as it approached the Great Hall.

Bellatrix leaned forward, baring her teeth. " _Blood traitors_ ," she hissed.

"Yes, your Imperial Majesty," Sir Severus confirmed.

"Their crimes, Sir?" Bellatrix demanded.

"High treason, punishable without trial and with immediate death," Rodolphus said.

Harry shivered. The words were always the same. Their  _crimes_  were never-changing. But, the Slytherins had never executed Lords of a House, even a disgraced house like  _Prewett_.

Queen Bellatrix, Empress of Albion stood, holding her arms wide. Her gaze went blank suddenly but, she still moved.

"Sixteen years. Sixteen long years since we have fully claimed the empire that is rightfully ours. And we must say, what a glorious sixteen years it has been, full of prosperity and beauty!" Queen Bellatrix laughed, her peculiar look of cruelty melting into something that was dangerously akin to serenity.

Harry frowned. The court was blind in their applause. Blinded by the gold that they had claimed, deaf to the cries of the Muggles that suffered so that their economy could prosper.

The Queen hesitated, her eyes dazed. She stared at the ground and Harry's eyes narrowed. The Queen swayed on the spot before she stiffened, and looked away, eyes still glazed.

"Sixteen years to this day, our brother, the Dark Lord Voldemort, disposed of the traitor pretender, Lily of House Gryffindor. In an to protect all that we hold dear about our beloved empire, my brother executed a woman we viewed as our sister though she was a dangerous threat to the reign that we all hold dear. A dangerous that wished to  _destroy_ us and the prosperity we promised. In remembrance of what happens to traitors, in remembrance of the great sacrifice our brother made, we celebrate the Death of the Phoenix."

The Queen held up her hand, fingers falling limply. The court applauded again.

Harry shook his head in disgust. Vernon, Dudley, and Dudley's gang were taken with Bellatrix's beauty, hanging onto every word. Petunia seemed far more intrigued by the Queen's twin brother.

Harry watched the Dark Lord. He  _was_ a handsome man. A strong jaw, full lips, broad shoulders. Harry shifted, his breath coming a little quicker. The Dark Lord's crimson eyes were haunting. And then, Harry watched his lips again. His lips were  _moving_.

The Dark Lord was mouthing the words that Bellatrix spoke, as if breathing them into her mind.

"And now, sixteen years later, there are still those who hope to destroy us. But, we shall not let them. The regime is  _strong_ ," Bellatrix promised and she dippped her head, her chin dropping ever so much and then jerking up. "In the face of pretenders and traitors, we  _endure_. This year, we do not celebrate. No. Today is a day of  _warning_."

Harry gaped as he saw her mirror Voldemort's actions.

"Today we humbly present before you, the traitors that have killed four of our knights and nearly murdered Lord Antonin of House Dolohov, Duke of Godric's Hollow. The traitors: Fabian Gideon Prewett," Bellatrix offered, bowing mockingly.

Harry watched as the jail wagon opened at the mouth of the Great Hall, and he winced when he saw the two men being led in chains and rags. Their curly red hair was dark with blood and dirt, rags tied around their eyes, blinding them. They limped, stumbled over their own broken bodies. The dementors had their fun with the pair of them.

Harry's heart ached for them and he felt tears sting at his eyes.

Lord Antonin stepped out of the line and settled between them, pushing them down to their knees and the one on the right fell forward, crashing onto his face on the hard stone, covered only by the thin white running carpet. Harry winced. He could nearly hear the man's nose cracking, breaking.

"The price of treason is death, delivered to them by the very man that they attempted to kill. Today, the Order of the Phoenix shall learn that no one is above the law. This is justice," Voldemort said, though only Bellatrix's voice echoed throughout the entire hall.

Harry swallowed as Bellatrix blinked back into being, the glaze disappearing. Voldemort melted back as Bellatrix collapsed onto the throne, no longer his mouthpiece. The Queen gathered her wits and a sadistic grin spread across her face as Dolohov reached forward, ripping the rags from the Prewetts' faces, exposing their eyes. Eyes full of defiance, so unafraid.

"Last words?" Bellatrix prompted.

One of the Prewett twins looked up, hatred brewing in his chocolate brown eyes.

"Yeah, I've got a few."

"Speak then, Fabian Prewett," Voldemort siad, voice so cold. Harry's eyes widened at his voice and scarlet rushed to his cheeks.

Voldemort had never spoken once at Mortem Phoenix in all the years that Petunia and Vernon had deemed Harry old enough to witness the executions. The man's voice was rough with emotion but, still smooth like velvet and cold as ice. A voice as beautiful as the man's face. A voice as unnerving at the man's countenance.

Fabian let out a wet cough, mucus and blood dribbling from his mouth into his maggot-infested beard.

"I am  _glad_ that your knights are dead, Voldemort. I killed them with a light heart and if dying gives the Order more of a chance in our goal to overthrow you, Usurper, than I shall die, proudly," Fabian snarled, and then he spat a glob of blood on the floor, brave and true to the end.

Voldemort lifted his hand and Fabian bowed his head, baring his neck. Dolohov came up behind him and swung his sword, cleanly cutting through sinewy and muscle and bone. The man's head was separated from his shoulders and it fell with a deafening thud, rolling once. Harry could just see Fabian's left eye, still full of defiance.

Gideon didn't look at his brother's head. Instead, he looked straight ahead, stone-faced.

"Any last words, Gideon Prewett, last son of Prewett?" Bellatrix asked, her cruel gaze steady.

"Yes."

"Speak, then," Bellatrix commanded.

Gideon lips pulled into a triumphant smile.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the court! There is a King!" Gideon declared. "A King with a true claim to the throne! He has many names! The-One-Who-Killed-The-Summer! His birth marked the night the fires roared! He is the Wildfyre! May the true King rise and take his throne!"

Bellatrix swayed, fear crossing her face, turning her ashen. She took a step back, disoriented. Dolohov stood, stricken and brought his sword down in a frenzy. Gideon let out a guttural scream, blood praying. Dolohov tried to rip his sword out but it was stuck deep.

"Death to the Empress Usurper! Death to Bellatrix! Long live the Prince of Gryffindor! Long live the King-Emperor of Albion! Long live the Fairest-of-Them-All!" Gideon shrieked through his pain,blood gushing from the wound, his eyes rolling around his head like a doll.

Harry shrunk into himself, gasping. He looked up at Petunia. Her face was hidden in Vernon's shoulder, and the man looked particularly green. Dudley and his gang were enraptured by the gory mess.

"MOVE!" Voldemort roared and he drew his claymore, Horcrux.

Harry covered his face with hands, peeking between his fingers.

The Dark Lord charged down the steps and pushed Dolohov out of the way. The man planted one booted foot between Gideon Prewett's shoulder blades and wrenched Dolohov's sword out, tossing it to the side. Voldemort swung Horcrux in a great arc and Harry heard the squelch and a thud.

Gideon's head rolled and Voldemort's head swooped down and he held the head up for all the court to see. He didn't care about the blood dripping onto his boots, the sinews of muscles and skin hanging from the man's head. His crimson gaze called for blood.

"Let them come! Let all and any that wish to challenge the regime, come!" Voldemort roared. "If anyone from the Order is watching, let it be known, that tonight, I shall see the Prince of Gryffindor's head on my wall, his body burned, and his heart consumed. This I swear!"

Voldemort dropped the head and stormed down the blood-stained runner. The court stared, shell-shocked. Voldemort stopped in the doorways of the Great Hall, turning to face them all.

"Long live the Queen!" he hissed and disappeared from their sight.

There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence.

Sir Severus Snape stepped forward, kneeling before the Queen-Empress Bellatrix.

"Long live the Queen," he prompted.

The Death Eaters drew their wands, crossing it over their chests, saluting her. The court dropped into shows of reverence before the Empress.

Solemnly, they echoed, "Long live the Queen."

Harry shivered as the mirror rippled, leaving a silent room. Harry looked around but, Dudley and his gang were already whispering about the 'cool' execution, looking over at Harry far too much for his liking. Vernon was murmuring reassurances to Petunia but, she didn't seem to be listening.

No, she was staring at Harry and she looked  _afraid_.

* * *

 

**WHO**

* * *

 

Voldemort stormed out of the Great Hall and out of Hogwarts Castle. He waved his wand, conjuring a warmer cloak for himself. He felt the cloth hit his back and felt it fasten around his neck. The Dark Lord trembled with incredible fury.

"My Lord-"

Voldemort spun around, his wandpoint pressed against the underside of Lucius' chin. Lucius lifted his hands in surrender and Voldemort twitched, overwhelmed the urge to  _curse_  someone. He took a deep breath through his nose, centering himself.

"Severus, Lucius, I am about to embark," Voldemort hissed, his voice barely above a whisper so that the two lieutenants had to strain to hear his words.

"Alone, my Lord?" Severus asked through clenched teeth.

"This is a journey I must make alone," Voldemort said faintly and he turned on his heel, continuing across the grounds, his eyes trained on the stables. His lieutenants scrambled after him, just on his heels.

"Prewett spoke of a Prince. Of Gryffindor. Lily had a son?" Severus asked and Voldemort paused, remembering suddenly that Severus had known Lily in their youth.

Voldemort paused and closed his eyes, taking a deep inhale, reaching out with his magic. He reached far and wide, longer and longer until he felt his magic would snap and then-the barest hint of smoky incense on the border of the North and East, just twenty leagues away. Smoke just like  _Lily_.

"My Lord?" Lucius whispered.

Voldemort opened his eyes again and continued marching towards the stable.

The stable boy jumped up, caught in a bout of laziness. He trembled under Voldemort's chilling gaze.

"M-my L-lord, t-the ball?"

"Fetch me the fastest horse we have. Now."

The boy stumbled off and Voldemort closed his eyes again, centering himself.

He had killed the little bird and the Child of Fire alone.

He would kill the Fairest alone as well.

"My Lord, this is hasty. We should plan and you shouldn't go alone," Lucius insisted.

Voldemort stiffened as he felt the magic of his nephew fast approaching. He turned, unable to hide his ire. The platinum haired boy held his head high, a haughty expression on his face.

Draco looked so much like his father. Lucius had once had the same look on his face until Voldemort had promptly beaten it out of him. Lucius had once confused confidence with arrogance and had believed that arrogance would put him on Voldemort's good side.

He quickly learned that Voldemort didn't possess a good side.

The only way for Voldemort to tolerate a man was when they were either witty or useful. Lucius had opted to be both. It seemed that Prince Draco was in need of the same reminder, as he was neither witty nor useful.

"Uncle! Where are you going?" Draco demanded. Voldemort's lip curled just the tiniest bit.

"I do not see how it concern you."

"If it's about the Prince of Gryffindor, I wish to go! I will not allow some Pretender to threaten the line of succession!  _I_ am the Crown Prince," Draco whined, voice low and shrill.

Voldemort stared at the boy for a long moment. He looked to Severus and Lucius. Severus grit his teeth and Lucius looked away in shame. Voldemort turned back to the boy and backhanded him.

Draco cried out in shock, clutching his cheek and flushing in humiliation. He looked to his father, his eyes wide. Lucius looked away.

"This does not concern you," Voldemort bit out. "He shall be dead by nightfall."

"I'm the Crown Prince! You had no right!" Draco whimpered.

Voldemort drew himself to his full height, staring down at the whimpering boy.

"I have every right, Draco. What you fail to understand that I  _made_  your aunt the Queen. They call me Kingmaker long before you were a thought in your mother's head. I make the kings of this empire.  _I_ own the empire and the Gilded Throne. I own  _power_  and you...do not. So, you will hold your tongue before I kill you where you stand. Return to your Mudblood bride, now," Voldemort snarled as the stable boy brought over the black palfrey, a stallion that Voldemort had tamed long ago.

Voldemort shoved his foot into the stirrup and mounted the great beast. He looked down at his lieutenants.

"Maintain the Queen's status quo. Protect the crown. I shall return," Voldemort swore.

Severus sighed. "At least, tell us where you go, my Lord," Severus pleaded.

"Little Whinging," Voldemort hissed.

The Dark Lord grabbed the reins and squeezed his thighs against the stallion's side. The stallion broke into a walk and then a gaited gallop, leaving Draco in a cloud dust, utter humiliation coloring his face pink.

* * *

 

**IS FAIREST**

* * *

 

"Draco, my love?"

The Crown Prince glanced up from his book, his lips cringing into a soft smile as his beautiful mother drifted into the room, so pristine, so perfect that she looked like an ice sculpture. Her own lips turned into a small smile as she saw her son. He felt a thrill crash through him; he was only one to get that type of reaction from her.

"Mother! What is it?"

The Warden of the East sat on the edge of the ornate bed, patting the next that Draco had arranged underneath him. Plush, warm comforters and overstuffed pillows. The bed of a king. Her little king. Narcissa smiled softly. Draco's face was no longer flushed but, Narcissa knew he still burned with embarrassment. The stable boy had seen his humiliation and it had spread through the servants up to the court not long after. Narcissa ran her hair through the short blond hairs at the nape of his neck.

"I have heard of what transpired in the stables," Narcissa began, sympathetic.

Draco sat up, rolling over, immediately. He rubbed the side of his face, and winced. His uncle had  _slapped_  him. As if he were nothing but a boy and not the Crown Prince of Albion. There was no love lost between Draco and his uncle but, Draco was his  _Prince_. He participated in council meetings nad law making and yet, every time he expressed interest in his birthright, his uncle embarrassed him.

"From Father?" Draco spat. That had burned the most. His father had looked away while his son was spurned.

"No," Narcissa allowed.

Draco froze, a terrible flush spreading across his cheeks. "From  _who_ , Mother?"

"The servants...talk," Narcissa finished. Draco sneered. He'd have that stable boy whipped and strung up by his  _hamstrings_. "My love, you mustn't let this get the better of you. Your uncle is vexed. The war is long and hard and pretenders are abound. He only wishes to protect the future of our line. He shall never strike you again."

"He treats me like a child, Mother!" Draco shouted, knotting his fingers in his bedsheets.

Narcissa cooed, nodding. "I know, my love. I know. But, soon, you shall be emperor. I promise you, my darling boy. He shall never be angry with you again, when you are emperor," Narcissa said, her voice hardening and Draco frowned at the ruthlessness in her voice.

Draco still couldn't help but feel a thrill at her promise. And then his face crumpled.

"How? Aunt Bellatrix will never relinquish the throne. She grows madder every passing day," Draco drawled.

"Don't worry your head, my love. I will  _speak_  with Bellatrix. She knows her time comes to an end, and it is high time that you assume your duties. Some else shall sit on the throne. You," Narcissa said, her voice chilly and Draco frowned in confusion as she reached out, smoothing out his brow. "If she does not...take a step back from politics, she may fall prey to the same end as her predecessors."

Draco squirmed. His mother was not jesting and though she spoke in circles, he could read the intention between her words. A threat.

"But Slytherins never betray one another. We are not each other's enemies."

Draco stared into his mother's light blue eyes. He had never noticed before but, they were so light that, in a certain light, they appeared white. It was ethereal, angelic, nearly. Draco smiled. His mother was the most beautiful woman in the world. Even more beautiful than his aunt. Draco felt a another flash of fury; that insane woman didn't deserve to rule over the great empire that was Albion.

"My son, everyone who isn't us is an enemy. In the game of thrones, you win or you die. There is no middle ground."

* * *

 

**OF**

* * *

 

"Thanks Mr. and Mrs. Dursley! Harry really wanted to go!"

Harry looked away, his shoulders hunched as Dudley's gang thanked the Dursleys profusely, grinning and laughing. Dudley looked less than pleased but, the rest of his gang leered at Harry. Fucking disgusting. Harry kept silent. He didn't need Vernon yelling at him for being an 'ungrateful brat'.

Piers grinned at Harry and threw his arm over Harry's shoulder, tugging him close.

"Why does  _he_ get walk with him?" Malcolm hissed at Gordon and Gordon said, nothing, just stared at Harry, his eyes raking over him again and again, undressing him.

Harry shuddered.

"Just stay close, Harry. We don't want you cold," Piers said. He leaned over, winking at his friends. "I'll keep him warm."

They laughed, even Dudley and Harry sighed, pulling away from Piers.

"I think I'll be fine," he muttered. "Let's just...go."

Vernon gruffly agreed and Petunia gave a weak nod. She stared at Harry with that same strange look, almost desperation. Harry turned away. Petunia  _never_ wanted to talk to him and when she did, she was always cross because she couldn't avoid it.

Harry sighed and led the gang out of the house, towards the Pit. The youth of the village were all probably there already, dancing and jigging until nightfall, when they would break the night fast. Then the entire village would return to the Pit and revel in the night.

"You're lucky that Dad said yes, freak. If it were up to me, you wouldn't be going," Dudley snapped.

Piers nodded, throwing his arm around Harry's shoulders again, his hold tightening this time.

"Yeah, well, it isn't. Harry is my date tonight and you'll be civil," Piers harped.

Harry's eyes widened and groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked over at Malcolm and Gordon. They were staring at him, their eyes on his neck, his lips. Fucking  _hell._

"Did you say 'date'? I must've misheard you," Harry said, evenly. Piers looked at him, thick brows furrowed in confusion.

"Yeah, a date."

Harry stared at him. "I'd rather die," he said with utter finality. He stalked towards the Pit. Better than the Dursleys where he'd be sent to his room until supper. Vernon would think him  _ungrateful_  or something.

Harry snorted as he heard Gordon and Malcolm ribbing Piers for striking out. It was like a game for them. Next up would probably be Gordon and his approach was far more forward than Piers', if that was even possible.

Harry squinted at the loud babbling of teenagers. The music was already loud, drumming and fiddling and someone was playing a lute and another singing. Harry's eyes narrowed and he pushed his glasses farther up his nose. They were already dancing, going around in circles, watching the play fight in the center. Teenagers were pressed up against trees, kissing amorously, dishonoring their families as all teenagers tended to do.

Harry  _wished_ he could dishonor his family,  _Merlin_.

Harry was beautiful. He knew that. He was also a beautiful  _virgin_. Beautiful and virginal plus drunken teeangers never equaled a good time for him.

The girls and boys tossed their skirts and cloaks, whirling round and round. Harry stared at the mock swordfight. Two teenage boys that looked like they had practiced all year for this.

As if they hadn't all witnessed a double execution.

"Pretty little Harry Evans."

Harry's eyes narrowed. So, Gordon had mustered up the courage then.

Gordon was a tall, bulky man with more spots on his face than Piers. His hair was closely shaven to his head and his head was disproportionate to the rest of his body. But, that didn't matter much to Harry. Even if Gordon looked like the Dark Lord Voldemort, with his gorgeous hair and that jawline and-besides the point-Gordon would still be the ugliest piece of shit on the planet. He was, in short, an arse.

"Goodness, Gordon, did someone hit you with the ugly branch again?" Harry asked, sweetly.

Gordon's eyes narrowed and he brushed a hand past his closely shaven head.

"Fuck you, whore. I was trying to be nice," Gordon hissed. He reached forward, pressing his hand to Harry's cheek. Harry slapped his hand away and crossed his arms.

"I'm no whore," Harry snarled, pushing past Gordon. Gordon caught his wrist, spinning him back around. "Gordon, get off me."

"I can be very nice to you, Harry. Very nice," Gordon whispered. He leaned in. "Make you  _my_ whore."

Harry closed his eyes and centered his fury. His lips pulled in a sardonic smile.

"Fine, Gordon," Harry said. "If you can best me in a swordfight."

Gordon looked back at Dudley and the rest of the gang. They were watching, wide-eyed and smug. Gordon grinned.

"Easy," he said.

Harry sneered. If there was anything he hated more than being patronized for his looks, it was the fact that people thought he was some delicate little flower. Harry gracelessly elbowed his way past the circle, expecting Gordon to follow and he picked up one of the abandoned wooden swords.

The weight felt good in his hand.

Gordon smirked, picking up his own sword.

Harry smirked back and slowly lifted his sword, falling into the proper stance. Gordon's smirk slipped and he looked over at Dudley. Dudley shrugged. Gordon turned back to his opponent and Harry swallowed hard. Every time he practiced, every time his fury was piqued, he felt  _it_.

The  _burning_.

"On your count, Gordon," Harry called.

Gordon's eyes narrowed. " _One_ -" and then he lunged.

Harry ducked underneath the random swing, bringing his sword up across his forehead in a block. Gordon's eyes widened at the strength underneath the block and Harry lifted his foot and kicked Gordon's chest.  _Hard_. Gordon stumbled back, looking at him in frenzied irritation.

"Cheaters never win," Harry taunted.

He threw himself forward, throwing the sword down in a devastating cut and thrust just as Gordon went for his open side, swinging his sword blindly. Harry spun out of the way, performing the same block. The fire burned. Harry's skin  _burned_  and he reveled in it.

Harry parried another blow, countered with a thrust, and he spun around Gordon, kicking the back of his knees. Gordon fell to his knees and Harry looped an arm around, pressing the edge of the wooden sword against his neck.

"You  _lose_ ," Harry hissed, dropping the sword and backing away.

Gordon was on his feet in a second, his face flushed with rage. Harry ignored the stares and ran through the gaps in the circle, deeper into the Forest.

They all were staring at him. As if he didn't belong and he  _didn't_.

He wasn't supposed to be there. Unwanted. Unloved. They all thought that he thought that he was too good for them. They thought he was a stuck up little freak that played hard to get.

Harry  _wasn't._

Freak, he heard.  _Freak._

The burning was no longer comfortable. It made his heart ache, made his stomach turn. It was bright and wild. Harry gasped when he entered the clearing.

His sanctuary.

It was a quiet place that Harry had found when he was a kid, aching to be loved by the Dursleys. Full of wild flowers and too-long grass, it was perfect. Harry had never been as content as he was in the clearing. He felt the fire still, calm, and he closed his eyes as he fell onto the soft ground, surrounded by flowers and moss and weeds. This clearing was freaky like him. Still green in  _October_. It made him smile.

Mortem Phoenix's weren't usually so  _hard_ for him. It always ached and the burning was always stronger but, he never felt like he didn't belong. It was the only day that he felt almost okay. Usually, he would be in the company of a very strange tabby cat that came and went as she liked, and he'd be in his room, doing as he pleased.

But, today, Dudley's  _stupid_  gang had insisted on torturing him further with their fucking presence.

Harry sat up, reaching for a dandelion. He pull off the white spores, blowing them off his palm one by one and watching them dance on the afternoon wind. He grinned wider and reached for another one. He paused and closed his eyes.

"I wish...I wish I could get away from here," Harry whispered.

He blew at the weed and when he opened his eyes, the spores were already floating high in the sky. He allowed himself a gentle smile.

"Not going to happy. Freak."

Harry froze and looked up.

Gordon stood above him and he wasn't smiling.

Harry made to stand but Gordon pushed him down with a single foot to his chest, trapping him.

"No. I prefer you like this. On your back."

* * *

 

**THEM**

* * *

 

When the Dark Lord Voldemort thundered through the village of Little Whinging, all celebration ceased. The Muggles watched in terrified horror. The Dark Lord looked at all of the youth, trembling in his shadow. The Dark Lord's horse knickered softly and he moved forward, pulling his wand. He pointed it at the largest one-a fat blond boy with a nose so upturned it looked like a pig's snout.

"You, boy."

The fat boy whimpered, shivering in fear already. He kept his eyes trained on the ground. Voldemort's lips pulled back into a sneer.

"Where is Harry Potter?" Voldemort hissed, his voice soft.

The fat boy looked up, face twisted into confusion.

"M-my Lord...there isn't a Harry Potter here."

" _Crucio_."

The spotted boy next to the blond pig screamed, crumpling to the ground. He writhed, the vessels in his eyes popping from the agony. Muggles had no stamina, Voldemort thought with a sigh. He released the spell and the spotted boy gasped. Voldemort turned back to the pig and sneered.

The blond youth had  _wet_ himself.

The spotted boy sobbed, tears running down his face, snot dripping into his mouth. He sniveled and slobbered, like a dog.  _Muggles_.

"Boy, I'm looking for a boy. A beautiful boy," Voldemort added. "The most beautiful boy that you've ever seen, I'm sure. With hair of ebony and skin of snow and lips of blood. Do you know who that boy is?"

The blond froze and then began to nodding profusely, his head bobbing up and down like a doll. The spotted whimpered, shaking his head.

"D-don't...d-d-don't tell him," the spotted boy rasped, voice raw from his screams.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. He tilted his head and smiled softly. " _Avada Kedavra_."

The youths all screamed, clinging to each other, cowering. They sobbed and carried on, staring at the dead boy. The pig burst into sobs and nodded over and over again, falling to his knees, clutching at the dead body. One of the boys that had been near them crawled away. He had  _also_  soiled his pants. Voldemort smiled wider.

"His name is Harry Evans! N-Not Harry Potter!" the blond pig sobbed. He held the spotted boy's corpse tighter, whispering a name over and over again.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed.

"If you don't want to end up like your friend, you only need to tell me where he is," Voldemort said, not unkindly. "Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers."

"H-he ran into the Forest! The Forest, my Lord!" the pig shrieked.

Voldemort closed his eyes and reached. The pig didn't lie. The smoky scent was there.  _Powerful_. Wild and untamed in a way that even Lily's wasn't, with her wildfire. Voldemort opened his eyes again and nodded.

"You are rewarded with your life," Voldemort decided and he felt his blood pumping as he grabbed the reins and tugged, sharply.

His horse galloped into the Forbidden Forest. Voldemort could taste the magic. He veered off the path, into the thicket of surrounding trees, coming from around the bend. He could taste the blood. Youth. Eternal life. All his. He wanted it. He wanted the  _boy_. Such a beautiful boy.

Voldemort stopped suddenly as he saw light. A clearing.

The most likely place.

Quietly, he hushed his horse and dismounted as quietly as he could. Voldemort nearly winced when he landed with a soft thud, muffled by foliage. Slowly, Voldemort moved forward, called to the fire that burned wilder and wilder. Voldemort swallowed. He very nearly felt the  _heat_ of the magic, as if it was something palpable, something to be touched.

Voldemort stopped at the edge of the clearing.

The Fairest was on his back, straddled by a large brute. Meaty fingers ran up and down the Fairest's side, rucking up his shirt as the Fairest writhed, attempting to buck his assailant off of him. Voldemort moved forward, intrigued by the scene.

"Get off me! Get off me, fucker!" the Fairest snarled. A nice voice. Throaty tenor, light. Probably pleasant in passion just as it was pleasant in fury.

Voldemort's groin tightened and he swallowed his lust, exchanging it for the lust of blood.

The lumbering man atop the boy traced the Fairest's plump red lips with the tip of his thumb. The boy's lips parted underneath his touch and the man grinned. Emerald eyes glowed with fury and the man smirked, grinding down into the boy's hips, almost driving the smaller young man deeper into the ground.

"Dirty words from a dirty mouth. Merlin, can't wait to slide into your tight little arse," the man hissed.

He pushed his thumb into the boy's mouth and Voldemort stiffened, overwhelmed with a fury that burned through his veins, that made his head hazy.

Suddenly, the man screamed. Voldemort's eyes widened as the man's hand poured blood and the boy turned his head to the side, spitting out the bloody appendage. Voldemort grinned. The boy had bitten off his assailant's  _thumb_. The boy bucked once, twice, and the man fell off of him. The man twisted, screaming in agony, his hand clutched tight to his chest.

The boy flew forward, lunging and sinking his fist into the man's cheek. The man's head swung, a tooth flying out, pieces of bloody gum stuck to it. The man roared and the Fairest stalked forward, his hands closing around the man's thick neck. His beautiful face was contorted with rage and his hair seemed to blow with an imaginary breeze.

The heat became overwhelming and Voldemort saw the sparks in the air, the clicking of a fire attempting to start. Voldemort took a step closer.

"I should kill you, you sick piece of shit. I should kill you…" the Fairest hissed and the man flailed, reaching for the Fairest's wrists. " _No._ "

Voldemort froze as flames erupted into being, whipping a furious firestorm around Harry. The Muggle boy whimpered, tears running down his face and evaporating immediately from the heat. His skin began to blister and peel and the Fairest stood there, powerful and untouched, untamed power coursing through him. So much  _power_. The Dark Lord moaned as his cock twitched again in arousal.

Voldemort lifted his wand and waved it in a complicated wiggle. The Muggle boy's eyes fluttered and suddenly he slumped, letting out a quiet snore as his hair burned away, lifting him bald. The Fairest paused and released him, gasping. Voldemort stared at the two burn marks around the Muggle's neck, in the shape of those perfect hands.

"I...I…" the Fairest stammered, his lips parted and he looked around.

He stopped when crimson connected with green.

Voldemort stepped out of the shadows and the Fairest took a step back, terrified.

"Hello," Voldemort murmured, voice rough with arousal. The Fairest shivered, violently.

"Hello."

Lord Voldemort revelled in the young man's voice. So innocent and so rough and so  _gorgeous_. He burned with need; the Dark Lord had not needed this badly in so  _long_. He had not  _wanted_  and oh, how he wanted in that moment.

This boy was beautiful.

Lord Voldemort knew beauty. Appreciated beauty.  _Revered_  beauty. Lily had been beautiful but, never more so than him. But this... _being_  before him was the most beautiful creature Lord Voldemort had seen in his very long life.

"Do you know me?" Voldemort whispered. The boy nodded, licking his lips nervously. Voldemort closed his eyes, gathering his wits, attempting to control himself.

The Dark Lord was many things but, he did not count rapist amongst them.

"You are the Dark Lord Voldemort," the Fairest whispered. He looked down at the unconscious body of the young man. "What did you do to him?"

There was resentment in his voice and worry.  _Worry_  for the man that had tried to rape him.

"I saved him. From you."

The Fairest stiffened. "W-what? I didn't...I didn't do this!"

"But, you did. You burned him. Branded him with your hands. I simply put him to sleep and once you recognized he was no longer a threat, you let him go," Voldemort said, so gentle and soft.

The Fairest trembled, wrapping his arms around his middle.

"I didn't...I didn't do  _this_ ," Harry protested. He stumbled backwards, trembling. "I can't...I didn't…"

He took another step back, turning on his heel, preparing to run. Voldemort held up his wand and the Fairest froze.

"Don't think of running, Harry Potter."

The Fairest froze.

"That's...that's not my name," Harry whispered and Voldemort's smile widened.

"What's your name, sweetling? Voldemort asked.

Harry shivered again as Voldemort stalked closer. He didn't flinch away this time, staring up at the Dark Lord with wide, curious green eyes.

"Harry Evans," the boy breathed.

Voldemort lifted a hand, fingers hovering over Harry's cheek. Harry tilted his head, his lashes fluttering, lips parting as he breathed deeply.

"Is that what they told you?" Voldemort whispered. "They lied. Your name is Harry Potter. You see, Harry Potter, I knew your parents."

"W-what?  _You_ knew my parents?" Harry whispered.

Voldemort nodded. "Yes."

"What happened to them?"

Voldemort ran the tip of his wand down Harry's jawline. "I killed them."

* * *

 

**ALL**

* * *

 

Sir Severus Snape of House Prince was an observant man.

He had always been an observant man and even at forty-two, his senses were sharper than most. There was a reason he was the Dark Lord's favourite. He proved his usefulness long ago, both as a swordsman and as a man that knew things he wasn't supposed to know. As Lord of Whispers, Severus prided himself in knowing nearly everything. His powers of observation had served his Lord well in the many years that Severus had been in his service.

Severus had once observed so much that he had once fallen in love with the object of his observations.

Princess Lily Gryffindor had been so much more than just that.

A friend. A companion. A partner.

Even now, he could still remember her bright green eyes, like emeralds, filled with affection. Once those eyes had been his to have, to hold. But, no, her affection slowly shifted. James of House Potter, the man that had made Severus' life a living hell, never letting him forget who- _what_ -he was.

After all, Severus was a bastard of House Prince, born to Eileen Prince, the disgraced heir of House Prince and the Muggle piece of shit that had beaten her to death.

Severus never had a chance with someone as gracious, as beautiful, as  _good_ as Lily Gryffindor and, James and his snivelling pack, that called themselves the Marauders, had never hesitated to remind him of that fact.

So, the Dark Lord had been good to him, seeing his talent, taken him underneath his wing. For a long time, Severus loathed the Dark Lord's handsome shadow-Severus with his long hooked nose, his sallow skin, fingertips stained forever yellow by potions ingredients.

But, he knew better now. Severus was older and wiser and he knew his skills. He made sure that his Lord's reign did not end. He protected the realm and his Lord above all. He protected the Lord's mouthpiece.

That was what Bellatrix was. The Dark Lord's puppet, his pretty little marionette dancing on her strings. The Dark Lord desired power but, he was too cunning to sit on the throne as the king-emperor of the Albion Empire. No one questioned his decisions. Those that questioned the Dark Lord usually ended up death by his sword or by Severus'.

The Dark Lord was not picky.

Severus was a frank man. He watched Bellatrix's sanity deteriorate. Her violet eyes frantically searched for her brother in vain. She was caught in the gaudy decadence of the ball, losing herself, losing her mind. She needed her brother to rescue her from it all because she didn't know how to do anything herself. Queen Bellatrix was not a diplomat; she had no way with words. She was disliked by court for her cruelty and disdain whenever her brother was not in control of her.

Severus wondered if he should be impressed or disgusted by his Lord for his methods of ruling.

Perhaps both.

Rebellion was stirring. Severus could see it in some of the courts' eyes. The House Prewett, blood traitors though they were, was now extinct. They all wondered if they were next-House Goyle, House Crabbe, House Greengrass, House Smith, House McLaggen, House Edgecombe. Houses upon Houses, wondering if they would be the next to be stricken from reality. And the Muggles talked-spoke of a group that would free them from chains of bondage.

They were gaining  _hope_. Hope was a dangerous thing.

Hope was stronger than fear and the survival of an heir, an heir of Gryffindor, fed that hope.

Bellatrix had much to fear from her people and yet, she looked as if she felt no fear at all.

Fool.

Severus turned his gaze to Lucius, Draco and his Mudblood, and Princess Narcissa. Narcissa sense his gaze, turning icy blue eyes onto him. She stared into his bottomless black eyes-the abyss-and he stared back. Narcissa gave a tight, stony smile and turned to the Warden Andromeda, speaking to her in hushed tones. Yet, her gaze locked on Bellatrix, madness on a throne. Severus' eyes widened when Narcissa's gaze turned into one of loathing, a black spiteful hatred that threatened to crack that mask of hers.

Bellatrix had much to fear  _indeed_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it again! Also, I promised this chapter would make up for the shortness of the last. It was just a transition chapter. Now, the main action of the story begins.


	7. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so interesting that it's far easier to write every other character but, Voldemort and Harry. I've added more complex motivations for all the characters so, sorry if it's a little hard to keep track of all of that in your head.

"I killed them."

He said it so matter of factly. As if it were something that he did every day. Harry supposed that he did. The Dark Lord Voldemort was an executioner. A _murderer_. Harry swallowed, his mind running a thousand leagues a minutes. Should he run? Scream? Attack? Harry bit his lower lip and took another step back as the Dark Lord stepped forward.

"Why?" Harry whispered and hated him when his voice broke.

"Because they threatened everything I held dear."

The raw honesty was unsettling. Harry frowned at Voldemort in confusion. He couldn't understand how the man was so nonchalant about confessing to the murder of Harry's parents but, so vulnerable when talking about _why_. It was incomprehensible. Harry ground his teeth together, steadying himself.

"Everything you hold dear? The empire? My parents were normal people," Harry said.

Voldemort sighed, shaking his head. "Dear sweetling, you didn't even know your name. What do you know about how 'normal' your parents were?" Voldemort asked. When Harry didn't answer, he took another step forward. Harry didn't flinch this time. "Your name is Harry Potter. You have many names. Harry Potter. Prince of House Gryffindor. The _Fairest_."

"I...I am not a Prince. I'm Harry Evans," Harry pleaded. "I'm not _anything_."

Voldemort looked at him, his eyes strangely cold. "You are _everything_."

"Why did you kill my parents?" Harry repeated, his voice cracking with emotion. Voldemort took another step forward and Harry gasped when he felt his back pressed up against a tree trunk. Voldemort settled a hand next to Harry's head, boxing him in.

"Does it matter?" Voldemort drawled.

Harry's grief broke away, replaced nearly instantly with fury. Voldemort raised an eyebrow as the boy's magic whipped around them, burning and smoky, threatening to choke Voldemort.

"Of course it matters," Harry snarled.

His eyes glowed in his rage. Merlin, he was beautiful.

"You truly have no idea, Fairest," Voldemort murmured. This was so beautiful with his vibrant green eyes and his wild nature, untamable and unbreakable.

He knew if allowed this boy to live, he would become a worthy opponent. Where Lily had failed to ever wield the Sword of Gryffindor, this boy would do so proudly. But, only if he were allowed to live and Voldemort had no intentions of allowing that to happen.

"Fairest?" Harry asked.

Voldemort brushed a gloved finger down Harry's soft, porcelain cheek and Harry shivered from the touch. He looked cross with himself for a moment but, Voldemort's lips tilted into his a smirk of amusement.

"You heard them. They called you Fairest-Of-Them-All. They weren't wrong," Voldemort said.

"They called... _me_?" Harry whispered.

Voldemort let out a high cold laugh that descended into a warm, intimate chuckle. Harry froze and he let out a whimper, writhing against the tree trunk, caught between getting away and getting closer. So, it wasn't only Voldemort that was caught.

"You are Harry of House Gryffindor, son of Lily of House Gryffindor and James of House Potter. They call you many things, sweetling. Things that you must die for," Voldemort whispered against the shell of Harry's ear.

He couldn't help himself. He ran his tongue down the cartilage, sucking gently on Harry's earlobe. Harry let out a tiny gasp and a soft mewl that made Voldemort want to bend over the sweet boy and fuck the innocence out of him.

Harry blinked, attempting to clear his head as things started to make sense and less sense. His fire, the constant burning, was _magic_ and his 'aunt' was increasingly protective despite the fact that she didn't want him around, really. He had been putting her family in danger.

"Prince of Gryffindor...the Fairest-of-Them-All. The most beautiful person in the world. Do you know what your heart does to me?" the Dark Lord whispered, his hands sliding down to cup Harry's neck, over his shoulders, brushing against the threadbare fabric. Harry felt the head of the man's broad hands and whimpered. The Dark Lord pulled him tight against him and grounded their erections as he hissed, "I will devour your heart, sweetling. I will eat it from your ribcage and be young and beautiful _forever_."

Harry gasped as Voldemort pressed their lips together. The Dark Lord was a good kisser but, he wasn't generous. No, this man _took._ He plundered Harry's mouth, tasting every crevice, running his tongue over the cap of each tooth. He kissed with his whole being, possessing Harry. Harry moaned into the Dark Lord's mouth, his hands tightening on the man's broad shoulders.

This man was beautiful and...and…

"You're a fucking _psycho_ ," Harry mumbled against the Dark Lord's lips and brought his knee up, his hand pressed against the taller man's waist.

The Dark Lord roared in pain as Harry's knee connected with his cock and Harry shoved him back, stumbling away. The Dark Lord pulled his wand, suddenly and Harry lifted the knife in his hand. Voldemort stopped, keeping his eyes trained on _the_ ceremonial knife. The knife he had used to harvest Helena and Lily's hearts.

"You stay away from me. You're not taking _my_ heart," Harry snarled.

Voldemort growled, pulling his claymore. "Are you sure, sweetling?"

Harry stopped and moved forward, pressing his hand to Voldemort's chest. Voldemort frowned, suddenly caught off-guard. Harry swallowed his pride and simpered, looking up at the Dark Lord.

"What are you attempting to distract me with, pretty?" Voldemort drawled.

"I've never lain with a man. Will you let me die a virgin?" Harry murmured.

Voldemort's eyes burned. "Oh, sweetling. You'll have to do better than that."

Harry dropped his pout, twisting it into a snarl. "Doesn't matter, I suppose. I have no intention of dying today."

And with a mighty snarl, Harry slashed the stolen knife, nicking the Dark Lord in his jaw and shoulder. Voldemort roared in pain and Harry spun on his heel, taking off into the forest.

Voldemort roared, waving his wand, healing his wounds.

The pretty ones always like to play _hard to get_.

* * *

 

**MIRROR**

* * *

 

Narcissa liked to brush her own hair.

Her entire life, she had been surrounded by maids and house elves. But, they had never touched her long flaxen hair. Before Narcissa did her own hair, her mother did it, and sometimes, Narcissa could pretend that the fingers weaving braids into her hair were her mother's hands and not her own.

Narcissa's mother had always called her, her 'little doll'. Narcissa had owned a doll that looked just like her, an old doll that she kept safely locked in a chest underneath her bed, far from unforgiving eyes. That little doll had been part of a set. The other doll. The other doll had been buried with its namesake. That sweet doll with dark hair and eyes painted pale. _Helena_.

"I think he loved you," Narcissa whispered. She hesitated, searching the room. There was no one. She prepared for Mortem Phoenix alone. Every year. "As much as he could love anyone that wasn't himself. Or rather, he was fond of you. Fonder of you than he ever was of me. Is that how beauty works, Helena? You are worthy because you are beautiful?"

Narcissa never expected an answer and she never received one. For all that Helena couldn't do because of her natural limitations, she had never been afraid. Narcissa shivered. That doll. Helena had given her that doll after their mothers had conjured a pair for them. Helena was older and doted on Narcissa. Narcissa had slept with that doll for a week after Helena died before giving it to Rowena to be buried in the crypts.

"I am worthy, Helena," Narcissa breathed, weaving her hair. "I am no longer porcelain. My dear friend: I shall not be ignored or lost. Not in favor of a mad woman. I am not a fool. I have done all that he asked of me and more. He will remember that I did _everything_ for him and this family."

Everything would come together. The Crown Prince had a bride-to-be. An heir would be solidified. Her son was healthy. Virile. The Granger girl was not the obvious choice—a Mudblood and skeletal—but, she was submissive to her son's commands. Narcissa could take her under her wing. Guide her. _Advise_ her. The House Zabini was a generous ally. War was brewing. Lady Zabini still held the loyalty of her dead husbands and their money pouches.

Narcissa's soft expression hardened into stone. _Helena_.

"Why do we pretend, Helena? You didn't ever have to pretend. We were porcelain and ivory. Sweetness. If you had lived...nevermind," Narcissa breathed. She shook herself, standing up, cold as ice. "I cannot be sweet and soft and breakable like we were. I must be more. Untouchable. Unreachable. Like them. Hard onyx and unbendable steel, the pair of them. Always a pair, Bella and _Tom_. But, Helena, my friend?"

Narcissa stared at her reflection. She closed her eyes. Sometimes, when she tried to remember Helena, she only found a hazy figure that drifted farther away the more she tried to remember. But, she could always remember Helena's laugh.

Narcissa's eyes opened.

"Do you know what can cut onyx, Helena?" Narcissa breathed. She smiled. "A diamond."

* * *

 

**MIRROR**

* * *

 

Harry _ran._ The crunching of branches and leaves under his feet sounded like earthquakes and his labored breathing like thunder. He could feel Voldemort catching up to him, his wand pointed. Harry didn't dare look back. If he looked back, he'd falter and Harry wasn't in the business of dying.

" _AVADA KEDAVRA!_ "

Harry screamed, spinning behind a tree. The bolt of green light shot pass him. Harry took off again, raging feuling him. That psycho had shot the _Killing Curse_ at him.

"You need better aim, you wanker!" Harry taunted. He doubled his speed when bolts of neon green and violent purple magic shot over his head.

The boy weaved between the thick black trunks, skidding under low hanging branches. Adrenaline pumped through his veins and the fire burned hotter than he'd ever felt in his life. The Prince looked over his shoulder for just a moment and though that Forbidden Forest grew darker with every passing minute, he could still see those crimson eyes. Harry spun back around, another swelling of fear and ran harder. He bit his lip bloody in determination.

"Merlin...help me," Harry hissed through the burning in his chest.

The Dark Lord was catching up to him. He could hear the pounding of his feet growing louder and louder. Harry swallowed his fear. He was no _coward_.

Harry ran and suddenly spun around, his nostrils flared.

Voldemort skidded to a stop, shocked. Harry held out his hand as if warding Voldemort away. Voldemort's knife stayed clenched tight in Harry's other hand.

"You stay _away_ from me," Harry warned.

Voldemort's lips curled into a tiny smile. Softly, he said, "Harry, your magic is powerful but, I have had _years_ honing my craft. I came with a purpose and I intend to fulfill it."

Harry looked around, a skittish deer. Harry swallowed hard. "I...I…" he stammered. Voldemort smiled as his power began to writhe around him, out of control.

The Dark Lord raised his wand. And then, Harry was stricken by a memory—a book that he had once read about witches and wizards.

" _INCENDIO!_ "

Voldemort threw himself back as fire exploded around Harry's body, swirling around him like a funnel, shooting into the sky. He whipped his wand around him, creating a Shield and he watched as the flames raged, destroying everything in its path, and in the middle of it all, Harry kneeled on the ground, watching the flames ravage the Forest in horror.

Voldemort moved forward, battling the flames.

A beautiful song, devastating and mournful, exploded in the air. Voldemort took a step back, faltering, and he felt his wand vibrate in his hand, the phoenix feather core singing its own song of power. Harry froze as the flames stilled. The lament of a phoenix was a great and terrible thing, Harry thought, and he wondered how he knew that.

He stiffened when he felt a heavy weight land on his shoulder and he turned and looked.

The majestic bird was large and the color of fire. It was the size of a swan and its plumage told stories in vibrant shades of scarlet and gold. Its tale trailed far behind Harry, long and powerful. It rubbed its long neck along the side of Harry's face and the bird was scorching and yet, Harry did not burn.

"Who are you?" Harry whispered.

Voldemort _trembled_. "Fawkes."

The phoenix trilled and Harry took it for affirmation. Fawkes had come to _him_. Lily Gryffindor's _phoenix_ had come to _him_.

"I will find you," Voldemort promised and before Harry could ask, fire erupted around Harry and enveloped him whole.

Harry whined, the sound of Voldemort's scream following him into the flames. When he emerged on the other side, he collapsed into overgrown grass, gasping for air. He fell onto his back, wheezing.

"Fawkes?" Harry called, looking up at the bright blue sky. He didn't hear the trill of the phoenix.

Harry sat up and his heart stopped.

He looked around in fright and his breath left him. Slowly, he got up to his feet and stared.

It looked like his clearing but, it was occupied by an enormous tower, tall and crumbling and familiar. Harry inhaled and he could taste the comforting incense and smoke on his tongue. He took a step forward to the grand marble structure at the foot of the tower. He raised his hand to push open the marble doors and he flinched when they creaked open before he could touch the cool stone.

There was something about this place that was so familiar. He looked at the window at the tower once before he continued into the marble structure, descending a long set of stairs. Harry shivered. It grew both colder and warmer the more he descended and when he finally reached the bottom of the staircase, he wished for fire.

The darkness was impenetrable and terrifying, more than the Dark Lord even.

Harry stumbled in the dark and his hand brushed against something wet. He rubbed his fingers together.

_Oil_.

Suddenly, the flames exploded and he watched as two long troughs of oil caught fire. Harry watched the fire along the walls, leading the wall. Harry chased the flames, his heart beating faster and faster. He could feel his pulse in his stomach.

And he gasped.

The statue was marble. She stood against the wall, her hands cupped in offering, covered in ashes. Harry reached forward, fingers trembling and the phoenix on the statue's shoulder cooed, nodding at him, as if it _knew_.

Harry stared at her—the kind curve of her jaw, the firm set of her lips. She was dressed simply, in long robes that was definitely not something the ladies of the current court would wear. He could imagine them in color instead of a pale grey—bright gold and red. He could imagine that the long hair that curled around her barefeet was bright, like the flames that had exploded around him.

He didn't have to imagine her eyes.

They were green. Green emeralds for her eyes. Green like _his_.

This was not just a tower. Not just a building. This was a mausoleum. And this woman.

This woman…

" _Mum_ …"

* * *

 

**ON THE WALL**

* * *

 

Ron knew as soon as the ink burned.

Madame McGonagall stiffened, a sharp inhale as her tattoo burned but, it was her only tell. The others hissed and whined in discomfort. McGonagall had been right—as always. The crypt had been breached. He looked over at the woman.

"Go," she drawled.

Ron nodded once and stood, holding out his arm. Ginny reached for it, grabbing it and with the other hand snatching up her bow and wand. Swiftly, they Disapparated ignoring the deafening crack. Ron no longer felt discomfort when he Disapparated. The first few times, he'd turned purple and vomited but, running as he had been running for nearly his whole life made him get over his aversion.

They landed. Ginny stumbled and righted herself, tossing her bow over her shoulder.

"The doors are open," she said.

"I noticed," Ron retorted with a smirk. Ginny gave him a rude hand gesture that only made him grin wider. As always, his sister looked grim.

Ginny led the way, her thick red braid bouncing against her back. She was in her battle leathers. The brand new ones that she had wanted to wear on the raid at one of the Queen's outposts in Balmorra, just North of Hogsmeade. That was before they knew Fabian and Gideon were the ones that were going to be executed. Ron had cried angry tears while he watched, clutching on to Fred and George.

Ginny didn't cry anymore. Not after the things that she had witnessed. The things that had been _done_ to her.

"Who d'you think is in there?" Ron asked.

Ginny stared straight ahead. "Someone with connections to the Order, I expect. We're the only ones that can get in. Us and Fawkes."

"Maybe Fawkes is back," Ron said in excitement. He'd seen the phoenix once, when he was twelve and his sister was eleven. He could still remember the vivid bird, bright crimson and gold. They descended into the darkness and Ron lifted his wand. " _Lumos_."

Ginny followed suit and she swallowed. "There's light," she whispered.

Ron's eyes narrowed and he saw it. The light. He walked faster, Ginny on his heels and he came to a sudden stop, rocking back.

Ron stared.

The oil was lit, the entire crypt bright with fire. He looked over at Ginny but, she was staring straight ahead. And Ron saw him.

He was kneeling before the statue of Lily, running his fingers through the ash offering that Ron knew was Fawkes' leftovers from his rebirths. Fawkes rested on the statue's shoulder, cooing down at the boy. The boy had beautiful black curls that hung to the nape of his neck and he was lithe, thin with wiry muscles. His knuckles were bloodied and a strange ceremonial knife sat on the edge of the altar.

"You...turn around," Ginny whispered.

The boy jumped up. Slowly, he turned, defiance in those bright eyes. Fawkes hopped off the statue's shoulder and onto the boy's. He trilled and the boy lifted his hand. Ron stared as flames danced between the boy's fingers.

"Harry Wildfyre," Ron breathed.

The boy with eyes bright as emeralds, hair black as ebony, lips red as blood, and skin white as snow, stood taking a step back. He swallowed hard and stiffened, running his hand through his hair and Ron saw the lightning bolt upon his forehead.

"I'm...I'm Harry," he said. "Who are you?"

"My name's Ron. This is my sister. Ginny," Ron stammered, looking as if he had been hit upside the head with a club. Ginny rolled her eyes and elbowed him in the side. Ron shook himself.

"Harry...I'm Harry Potter. That's what...that's what he told me," Harry whispered.

Ginny took a step forward. "Who told you?" she demanded.

"The Dark Lord. Voldemort," Harry said and Ron inhaled sharply at the name, stricken by the sound of it. He leaned forward, frowning. "What did you call me?"

"Your name is Hadrian," Ginny declared, taking a step forward. Fawkes cooed from his perch on the stone shoulder of Lily Gryffindor. "Of House Gryffindor and Potter, Prince of Gryffindor, the rightful King-Emperor of Albion."

Harry looked over his shoulder, his gaze softening as he looked at the statue.

"This is my mother," he whispered, a wild sense of glee to his face. He looked back at Ron and Ginny and swallowed. "I was being chased. By the Dark Lord. The phoenix brought me here."

Ron shook himself and nodded. He held out his hand.

"Prince Harry, I think it'd be best if you came with us."

* * *

 

**WHOM**

* * *

 

In the night, Bellatrix had very sharp eyesight. She had taken after her father, in that aspect. It was the _only_ thing that she had inherited from her father. Voldemort had the tongue of snakes, that was true, but Bellatrix liked having one thing that she could share with her exiled father, no matter how much she hated the man. Bellatrix hated her father so much that she burned with it and thirsted for his blood.

The Queen waited on her balcony, watching the gates. The castle and grounds were full to the brim with her visiting court and with her sister's uninvited household. Bellatrix could see them in their tents, dancing and laughing around bonfires, celebrating outside like heathens instead of with the rest of the nobility or servants. She did not care that dawn would come; she would not sleep until she had Harry Potter's bloody heart in her palm and between her teeth.

Bellatrix would give that boy the chance to pry her deserved crown from her head. She would clutch her throne until her skin peeled away and there was only bones and dust.

And that would _never_ happen. She would be immortal and beautiful and _whole_ for all eternity.

Draco wanted her throne. He happily shrieked and shouted that he was 'Crown Prince. One day, I'll be Emperor'. It made her smile. Her sister's sweet little boy, the Crown Prince, was her little court fool. The Queen laughed, her cackles echoing on the wind. The Warden's household looked up, searching for the laughter and Bellatrix hushed herself, giggling under her breath.

She felt him before she saw him.

"Was it done?" Bellatrix asked. Voldemort walked to her side, staring out at the Warden's household of heathens, dancing and coupling by the fire. She kept her territories in strong hand but not her own people.

"He was beautiful. Far more beautiful than Lily or Helena. The mirror did him no justice, I tell you that."

Bellatrix stared at her brother, jealousy surging through her body. Her head went hazy with jealousy and she felt her stomach lurch. Bellatrix crossed her arms underneath her full breasts and smiled, masking her irritation. There were always cracks in the mask though. He always _knew_. Somehow, they always knew.

"Did you fuck him before you killed him?" Bellatrix asked crudely.

Voldemort looked at her, crimson eyes burning. He took a step towards her before thinking better of it. It had been a long time since Voldemort had had to still himself from being violent towards her. Longer since Voldemort had _wanted_ to be violent towards her. Bellatrix leaned forward, her cheeks flushed.

"I did not."

"We did not think you would. You wouldn't do that to us. You know—" Bellatrix said, smiling proudly.

Voldemort hummed and turned away; closing his eyes and thinking back to something that Bellatrix could not see. Bellatrix sighed and thought of the great gift her brother had given her. She would bite through sinew and feel it catch between her teeth, giving her power. She would no longer feel compelled to drink the blood and eat the hearts of insignificant serving girls.

Bellatrix would be powerful and beautiful and _loved_.

"No. Bellatrix. I did not kill him."

Voldemort had been called Kingmaker once. He had made her instead. When they had turned fifteen, Bellatrix had been given a name too—Chaos-Bringer, and her mind was lawless and tumultuous. She gnashed her teeth, and her magic roared within her, beyond her control. She didn't notice when she drew her wand and pointed it at him.

"WHAT DID YOU DO?"

Her shrieks were deafening but Voldemort didn't flinch. He stared at her with unyielding eyes. Bellatrix lunged, her hands curled into claws. She tore her nails across his face and blood welled to the surface, marring his perfect face. Voldemort raised his wand and passed it over his face. The flesh knitted together as if it had never been torn apart.

Bellatrix seethed with resentment.

"I did nothing. He escaped me."

" _How_? How could you let him go, _Tom_? He will be our downfall!"

Voldemort's eyes flashed and he lifted his wand. " _Crucio_."

Bellatrix's back arched and she shrieked out a terrible laugh as agony ripped its way up her spine, pulsing in her ears, tearing her brain apart. Voldemort watched as she crumpled to the ground and squirmed, like an insect. Her black hair fell into her face and she smiled up at him, biting her tongue bloody to silence her screams. Voldemort released the curse.

Bellatrix curled in on herself, twitching from the aftershocks.

"He will be your downfall unless you control yourself," Voldemort warned.

Bellatrix shuddered as she took in a deep, ragged breath. She giggled again, still twitching, her eyes unfocused.

"We would not worry about control if you had done what you were put to do. We commanded you to rip her heart from her chest as your Queen and you failed," Bellatrix hissed and she spat on his boot, a glob of blood and mucus on the top of the shiny leather. She stared at him, a demented smile twisting her beautiful face into something wretched.

Voldemort's nostrils flared as he swung his foot, catching Bellatrix in the face. Bellatrix fell back and laughed again, harder than before. She wiped the blood pouring from her nose and mouth on her sleeve, giggling. Slowly, her laughter tapered off and she stared at him, shocked.

"You...you hit us," Bellatrix whispered.

Voldemort took a lazy step forward and kneeled before Bellatrix, utter sincerity in his eyes. He took Bellatrix's face between two pale, spidery hands. Bellatrix flinched but there was nowhere for her to escape to. Voldemort leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers, the illusion of intimacy around them. And still, Bellatrix's terror was undeniable and so was the demented torment too.

"Do not test me, sister. I made you. I made you who you are. I made you Empress. I made you Queen. I made you beautiful. And I can make you _ugly_ too."

* * *

 

**IS FAIREST**

* * *

 

Ron couldn't stop staring and Ginny was starting to notice.

He watched as Prince Harry, the Fairest-of-them-All, walked as if he knew where he was going. He followed Fawkes, head held high as he chased the red feather plumage. Ron swallowed hard and exchanged another glance with Ginny. She looked just as enchanted. Harry was beautiful in the dying sun light of the day. Ron had even found himself jealous when Harry had asked to side-Apparate with Ginny.

"This way, your Highness," Ginny said.

Ron shivered as they passed through the wards. Fawkes let out trill and swooped low, landing heavily on Harry's shoulder, his long tail tossed over Harry's other shoulder, wrapping around him. Harry didn't shiver. He held his head high and look in the war camp, eyes narrowed in concentration.

The edges of the camp were made up to be a tent city. People—Muggles, witches, and wizards alike—milled about, doing their own duties or chattering and eating as if they didn't have a care in the world. As they walked through the tent city, small, well-built cottages began to pop up, more and more occurring as they approached the largest building, a two-story manor house. Just beside the manor house was a worn stables and a small hut.

Harry looked over his shoulder, frowning when Ginny's chocolate eyes connected with his own.

Ginny flushed and looked down, embarrassed.

Ron observed briefly, intrigued by his sister's odd behavior before he turned.

"MADAME MCGONAGALL!"

Harry flinched at Ron's obnoxious roar. Fawkes made a spitting noise but nobody else reacted at Ron's cries. Even the young children didn't look up from their suppers or games. The manor door swung open and a severe woman in tartan and glasses walked out. She was a regal woman. Dark hair was pulled back into a tight bun, streaks of grey making her handsomer.

"Lower your voice, you babbling buffoon," Madame McGonagall hissed and even still, Harry could see fondness in the lines around her eyes.

Ron stepped forward and Harry cleared his throat. The Madame faltered as she stared at Harry and the phoenix that sat comfortably on his shoulder. Harry's attention was grabbed as a large, hairy man emerged from the manor despite the fact that the door was half his size.

"Minerva—" the giant man started and he gasped.

"Madame, when we arrived at the tower, we saw that the mausoleum had been breached. When we entered to secure the area, we met... _him_. He matched the description," Ginny began, so serious and Ron bounced forward, clearing his throat.

"May I introduce you to Hadrian of Houses Potter and Gryffindor, Prince of Albion, and the Fairest-of-Them-All," Ron said, bowing dramatically and he turned, winking at the golden-haired young woman that had approached.

Harry straightened. People were watching, whispering, gasping.

Harry swallowed his nervousness and took a deep breath, attempting to force the flush from his cheeks. McGonagall took a step forward.

"You have her eyes," McGonagall said, her voice so soft.

Harry frowned. _That_ wasn't what he expected. "I-I'm sorry?"

"You have her eyes, Harry Wildfyre. I was there. The night of your birth. The night that summer died and was reborn again when you cried out. You were the most beautiful babe I've ever looked upon and I was there. For the birth of your mother, Helena, most of the children of Hogwarts Castle. Except for the twins. They are before my time," McGonagall allowed and Harry took a step closer, his lips pulling into a soft smile.

"You were there?" Harry whispered. "You knew my parents?"

"Aye," McGonagall confirmed. "Hair, black as ebony wood. Skin, white as snow. Lips, red as blood. And Lily's beautiful eyes. Welcome, Prince Hadrian."

Harry thought back to that gorgeous marble statue of his mother. She looked stern and _powerful_ but, all he knew was how beautiful she was. He wanted more. This woman could tell him _more._

"I...my name's not Hadrian. I'm just... _Harry_ , please," Harry whispered.

McGonagall's lips curled into a tight smile and she nodded before dropping into a curtsey.

Ron and Ginny bowed as did the hairy man as he mopped tears from his eyes. Fawkes trilled in Harry's ear and Harry glanced over his shoulder. The people that had begun to gather bowed too. Harry flushed, bashfully and he shook his head, holding up hands.

"No! Now bowing. Please…"

McGonagall straightened. "Why not, your Highness?"

"No! None of that either. Just Harry," Harry pleaded.

McGonagall frowned, unsure of herself for the first time. She shook her head and looked towards Ron, her expression stern once more.

"Ronald, escort the prince inside. I shall summon your brothers to the table. Percy is inside. Tell him to call the table. Ginevra informed the camp of the Prince's arrival," McGonagall commanded and she looked around. Just her glance seemed to dismiss the spectators and they scattered, whispering and gossiping.

Ginny snickered at the expression on Harry's face, showing genuine emotion for the first time since they had met. The redheaded girl darted off and Harry turned back to Ron. He struggled with the right words to say before settling.

"She's rather scary, aye?" Harry choked out.

Ron grinned. "I know, right? McGonagall is so cool. Hey, your Highness—"

"Harry."

"Harry, then. Harry, this is Hagrid. He was the groundskeeper of Hogwarts Castle but now, he's working with us. He's a great friend and you'll be seeing him around the camp a lot," Ron said, gesturing vaguely at the large hairy man.

The giant of a man had a long scraggly black beard and small black eyes but, they were the kindest eyes that Harry had seen in a long while. Harry beamed.

"Hello, Hagrid," he said, gently stroking Fawkes' tail.

"'Ello, Harry. I hope ye find the camp nice 'enough. Erebody's workin' to 'elp ye win against th' Queen and You-Know-Who," Hagrid said with a big smile. He leaned forward, staring at the phoenix. "Beautiful phoenix, ye got."

"He's not mine," Harry said, hurriedly, but Hagrid was already lumbering off to do his own duties.

Ron shook his head. "You're his. He chose your mum once. Now, he chose you."

Harry bit his lip, looking around the camp. He shook his head and turned back to Ron whom was already standing in the doorway. Ron held out his hand to Harry. The green-eyed boy snorted at the hand and walked forward. He froze, worried that he had hurt Ron's feelings.

Harry's lips curled into a smile when he saw Ron's sheepish grin. The redhead rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"Er...sorry. I was treating you like a girl just then, wasn't I?" Ron apologized.

"No. You were treating me like I was weak. I pulled a knife on the Dark Lord. I'm not weak," Harry said, matter-of-factly and he waved the ceremonial knife at Ron.

Ron's mouth dropped open and he stared. "W-what? You didn't say that. You haven't said _anything_ about what happened!"

Harry faltered. "Oh…"

"Wait until everyone is here. McGonagall will want to know," Ron said as he led Harry through the manor home.

It was so much nicer than the Dursleys' debilitated manor. In this manor, the walls were cream, freshly painted and panelled with wood. The floor was smooth wooden silk. Harry almost tripped when Ron made a sharp left and went up a flight of stairs. Harry backtracked and followed him into a room.

The room was large and dominated by a long, heavy darkwood table. By the far wall was a fireplace, where bright green flames danced merrily. Harry looked at it, intrigued and Fawkes trilled. Harry turned his head into Fawkes' beak and smiled. Someone cleared their throat and Harry turned back to the table.

They were all _looking_ at him.

The first to catch his eyes was a woman with bright pink, spiky hair in a thin black dress, her middle squeezed tight by a corset. He stared at her very low neckline. Her breasts were almost completely exposed. If she removed the scarf draped around her neck and down over her breasts, he was sure that he'd be able to see her nipples through the threadbare fabric. She had a red cloak tossed over the back of her chair, and she looked so at ease that Harry was jealous.

The man next to her donned a shappy, patched white shirt, a jerkin with missing buttons and shabbier, threadbare brown trousers tucked into worn boots that had seen better days. His tawny hair was streaked with gray but his amber eyes shined brightly and he was staring, slack-mouthed.

The young man sitting to the left of the head of the table was staring at him with pink cheeks. Curly red hair spilled over his ears and he nervously fiddled with the scrolls in front of him, holding his quill so tight that it snapped. He was _definitely_ related to Ron and Ginny.

More people. A man with one fake eye, whirling and spinning in his face. Four more redheads with smatterings of freckles, the oldest looking one with a long fang tattoo in his ear. More Weasleys, then. That brought Harry's count up to _seven_ Weasleys. A dark-skinned man with a heavy jaw. An older grey-haired man with electric blue eyes. A woman that looked strangely like the weird Squib from Little Whinging, Arabella Figg. A few younger people, only a few years older than Harry.

The shabby man leaned forward, eyes wide.

"Harry? Harry, is that you?" he rasped. Harry swallowed.

"That...that's me. I'm Harry. Harry Potter. The...the...Prince of Gryffindor."

And the world exploded.

* * *

 

**OF THEM ALL?**

* * *

 

"Sister," Andromeda greeted, pressing a kiss on each of Narcissa's cheeks.

Narcissa responded with a gentile smile, she held her hands out, pulling Andromeda into her parlour.

"It's late, I know, but I missed you," Narcissa said softly. "Thank you for accepting my invitation to tea."

"It's not just late, Narcissa. It's the middle of a ball. A middle of a ball and not a single Slytherin child is there," Andromeda drawled as she clunked into Narcissa's parlour, wearing the incessant dress of chainmail. "What an utter faux pas."

"We are Slytherins," Narcissa said, as if it were an excuse.

It was.

"No matter. I missed you as well, sweet little sister," Andromeda said, sitting down primly at the tiny table prepared with sweets and tea. She waved her hand wand watched as the teapot lifted, pouring tea into the two cups. "Do you take it with milk or cream?"

"Neither," Narcissa said primly.

Andromeda grunted and waved her wand. Two lumps of sugar bounced their way into her cup and a splash of milk. Andromeda slowly turned her wand in circles, mixing the tea. She took a sip and hummed, satisfied.

"What would you like to talk about, sister?" Andromeda asked.

"How is your self-exile to the West?" Narcissa asked.

Andromeda laughed. "It is tiring. I do my duty, though."

"Right…" Narcissa drawled, pursing her lips as she drank her own tea, relishing in the bitterness on her tongue. Andromeda laughed again.

"I know what you think about me, Cissy—"

"Do not call me by that childish nickname again, _Dromeda_ ," Narcissa spat and she inhaled deeply, taking another sip of tea, smiling as easily as she did before.

"I don't mind childish nicknames," Andromeda drawled. "I miss childhood."

"What is there to miss?" Narcissa demanded.

"The lack of meaningful mistakes. Every mistake I make costs a life," Andromeda said. "That is what it means to be Warden but, you wouldn't know."

"I am Warden of the East," Narcissa spat.

"I hear your style nowadays is Duchess of the East, and you do not rule your territory. You send envoys...your _boy_ to do it for you. Training him to be king already?" Andromeda asked. She smiled wider when Narcissa winced, and Andromeda took a sip of her too-sweet tea. "Or will he go by the style emperor. Far more flashy. More his style, I think."

"Don't talk about my son. He'll make a fine emperor one day," Narcissa said stiffly.

Andromeda let out a wicked laugh and she reached for the little lemon cakes sliding it whole in her mouth. Narcissa's nose wrinkled as Andromeda chewed and laughed before she swallowed.

"Is that what you tell him when you put the brat to bed? The brat who doesn't know how to treat his toys well? Imagine what he'd do with an empire," Andromeda spat.

Narcissa's eyes narrowed. Andromeda spoke of the Mudblood. The little Mudblood with the empty eyes and the ill-hidden bruises. The bruise on her face had not been so noticeable at the ball. Her maids must have put in an _extra_ effort or had given her bruise-healing potions.

"He's Crown Prince. He has learned much from his father, from his uncle, from me."

"His uncle? _Tom_?" Andromeda squawked.

"Don't call him that," Narcissa warned. She had learned the hard way.

"I'll call him whatever I like," Andromeda snarled, suddenly full of rage. She took a deep breath and drained the rest of her tea. "She won't relinquish a throne, you know. Never. And she will live far longer than we do. Our brother and her both. They have done _dark_ magics, Cissy."

"This is madness!" Narcissa hissed, voice pitched low as she looked around. Andromeda smiled. Her siblings were suspicious as ever. There was no one in the room and yet, she still searched for enemies. "She's insane. I sat upon that thrice damned throne and now, we have a mad woman upon it. We've had a mad woman for sixteen years. I have done all he has asked of me and more. I ask _one_ thing, Dromeda."'

Andromeda's lips quirked into a smile. "You asked the one thing you knew he wouldn't give. Your son is not easy to control, Narcissa."

" _I_ can control my son," Narcissa snapped.

"Exactly."

"No more, Andromeda," Narcissa whispered, her voice wintery as the North. "I told you once and I'll tell you again, Andy. I shall not be pushed into anonymity. I shall not be ignored or lost."

The older woman's look of amusement disappeared and her eyes came into focus. The grim set to her mouth hardened.

"You don't know what lost is," Andromeda said. "You don't _understand_ what that means. If you did, you would crave to lost as I was. You once told _me_ that marriage means wisdom."

"It does," Narcissa said, sagely.

Andromeda laughed. "Being fucked every night like its your husband's God-given right and squeezing a child out of your cunt doesn't give you wisdom, Narcissa Slytherin. Nor does it give you a throne."

Narcissa froze. Then, she moved faster than Andromeda had ever thought she could. Andromeda's head snapped to the side as Narcissa's hand connected with her cheek. Andromeda turned back to face her sister, a grimly smug smile on her face.

"What do you know about my marriage?" Narcissa snarled.

"You once loved him, yes. I remember. You mooned after him. Begged that Tom let you marry him. Then all you did was resent each other and try to control each other. You cause each other pain," Andromeda condemned.

Narcissa's eyes narrowed. "That's marriage."

Andromeda let out a shocked laugh, as if she couldn't believe her sister's words.

"If you believe that, you're a bigger fool than I thought you were," Andromeda said.

"You do not speak that way to _me_ , sister," Narcissa hissed. "My name is Narcissa of House Malfoy. I have married a man of noble blood and I have provided this empire with an heir. I have killed for the prosperity of House Slytherin. I have _bled_ for us. What have you done?"

Andromeda moved towards her sister, pulling her forward and holding her tight against her body. Narcissa's head was tucked against her neck. Narcissa could feel the rhythm of Andromeda's pulse and Andromeda kissed Narcissa's hairline, right above her head.

"You are a Slytherin, Narcissa. You will always be one. Come to accept the fact that you are greatness personified, but never great enough for him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. This is mostly a transition chapter. There are longer chapters to come, so sorry about that. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading it because I really enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Please kudos or review. It feeds my lifeforce.


	8. Chapter Seven

It was chaos. Everyone was shouting questions at him and Harry curled into himself, hiding his face in Fawkes' scarlet feathers. The woman with the pink hair leaned forward, her breasts nearly spilling out of her dress. She looked vaguely curious. The shabby-looking man looked like had just been struck over the head. Harry swallowed hard, wincing under the shouts.

"Ron! Are you sure that's him?" a redheaded man with curl hair shouted over the din. He pushed his glasses up his nose, marking his face with ink.

"Of course, it's him,  _Percy_ ," Ron started, snarling and aching for a fight already.

The shabby man looked at Percy, his eyes bright amber. "Of course he is. Look at him. He fits the description and...he has his father's hair. His mother's eyes," the man snapped.

Harry whimpered and took a step forward, eyes wide. "You knew my mother?" Harry demanded.

His voice sounded musical in the midst of uncouth shouts and shrieks. The room fell silent at the sound of his voice and the man looked at him, wary. Slowly, the man nodded and smiled.

"I knew your father better. My name is Remus Lupin. I was one of your father's best friends. I was part of her guard," the man said, his voice so soft. Harry couldn't picture the man holding a sword, laying down his life for another person. He seemed so fragile.

"Who are you all? What is this place?" Harry asked.

"This is the Order of the Phoenix."

Harry looked at the head of the table, staring at Madame McGonagall. She looked back at him, eyes hard. Someone cleared their throat behind Harry. Harry stepped back and allowed Ginny to walk around him and she settled into her own chair, sans her bow now.

"The Order of the Phoenix?" Harry asked. He knew the Order. Everyone knew the 'secret' insurgency group that worked to dismantle the Slytherins' reign. "As in...Fabian and Gideon Prewett."

"My uncles were Madame McGonagall's lieutenants," said the redheaded man with the fang in his ear. "They were good men."

"Great men. Great men that will be avenged," Ginny added, coldly. McGonagall nodded.

Harry swallowed as he looked around the table. These stares were different from the lustful leers he was usually awarded. These eyes were wide with wonder, adoration, and too-high expectations. Expectations that Harry could never possibly reach.

"We work towards freeing Albion from the Slytherins. Bellatrix is a horrible queen, who stole her throne but, does nothing to help her people. The Dark Lord slaughters all that stand against her. Narcissa taxes the people unfairly as Lady of the Coin. Andromeda stands aside and watches it happen," the woman with pink hair said, so matter of fact and sharp. Harry stared at her in wonder and he leaned forward.

"What is your name?" he murmured, softly.

This woman was rather familiar. Her vibrant pink hair was otherworldly but, the set of her jaw, the fullness of her lips. And then, it went hazy again. The woman smiled at him.

"Tonks. Nymphadora Tonks," she said, her voice full of self-pity as she spoke her first name. Harry's lips twitched.

"You are right. The Slytherins must go. But, what does that have to do with me or my mother?" Harry questioned.

The man with the spinning blue eye ball frowned and gruffly said, "You're the only one who can do it, lad."

"How so?" Harry challenged, voice sharp. Fawkes made a warning hiss at the Order members. Harry immediately cooed at him and Fawkes gentled, tucking closer into him.

"Fawkes knows it too. There is a prophecy that speaks of the Slytherins' downfall. It talks about you," the redheaded curly-haired boy said. Harry swallowed and nodded. The curly-haired boy blushed. "I'm...I'm Percy, by the way. Percy Weasley."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Percy Weasley," Harry said, gently. Percy flushed even more. Harry looked around the table. "Have you heard the prophecy?"

"Through memories that we procured from the seer that spoke it," McGonagall confirmed.

Harry nodded and he paused. "He...he wants my heart."

"Who?" McGonagall barked.

"The Dark Lord. He told me. He told me he would eat my heart and it would give him immortality," Harry said, and he sounded far away. He clutched the knife in his hand even tighter. "He wanted to kill me. So...I tricked him. I stole his knife and then...I ran."

"You tricked him?" a redhead twin asked in awe.

"That's what he said, Fred," Ginny snapped. Harry snapped back to reality and he looked around the table.

He wanted to hide from their awe.

Harry pressed the knife to the table, looking at the ceremonial curved blade. There were engravings along the flat of the table. The handle was wrapped in leather and something else was carved into the leather. Squiggles that Harry couldn't make out.

"I can't believe you stole the ceremonial knife. Taking your heart...making the whole thing work...it all hinges on that knife," the stockier redheaded brother said.

"And your name?" Harry asked.

"Charlie Weasley. Second older of the Weasley clan."

The brother with the longer red hair and the earring leaned forward, grinning lazily. He propped his chin upon his laced hands and Harry's lips twitched in amusement at the man's confident attitude.

"And the name's Bill Weasley. The oldest," he drawled.

Harry snorted.

Ginny sneered. "Yes, yes. A bunch of peacocks, the whole lot. The Prince doesn't want you. He's too pretty for any of you."

McGonagall looked back at Harry. "How did you get away?" she asked.

"With fire," Harry said and he lifted his hand. He watched as the flames danced around his fingers and the man with the strange eye gasped, staring. Everyone was watching in awe.

"How? Can you do any other magic?" the dark-skinned man asked.

"N-no," Harry stuttered. "What is that you all... _want_ from me?"

McGonagall didn't hesitate. "We want you to take back your kingdom. You are the rightful Prince of Albion. The throne is yours."

Harry laughed, bitterly.

"Imagine that...a  _prince_. I...don't have much of a choice, do I? I can't exactly walk away. He'd kill me and you...I have to do this. I won't walk away."

* * *

  **MIRROR**

* * *

 

"My Lord?"

Severus Snape of House Prince watched his Lord with a look of trepidation. Voldemort stood in the middle of the Great Hall, surrounded by empty tables and trays, food and litter all around the ground. The only gleaming spot was the great Gilded monstrosity of a throne on its dais. Severus looked over at Lucius but, the man stared at their Lord.

"Severus, Lucius...we have many things to prepare in the next seventy-two hours. Gentlemen, we are going on a hunt," Voldemort said softly. He drew his wand and waved it. Severus watched as a Pensieve melted into being the in the shadow of the Gilded Throne.

He looked at leisure as he pressed his wand to his temple and drew forth a memory. But, Severus knew better. He could see the tension in his Lord's shoulders that belied the carefully lazy mask that he had on. Voldemort let the pale material, neither liquid nor gas fall into the liquid of the Pensieve. Severus gasped when it burst into flames, setting the Pensieve alight.

"My Lord!" Lucius squawked. Then, he paused. "Phoenix fire."

"Reveal your secrets," Voldemort murmured and the crimson flames danced before dying down to a quiet roll. Voldemort stared into the Pensieve, his eyes glazed with lust and rage.

"My Lord, what is it?" Lucius asked, immediately, the perfect soldier.

Severus looked at his friend from the corner of his eye. The perfect soldier in icy blue silk and cream robes. Lucius was the perfect soldier to their Lord and his wife's bitch. But, then again, Narcissa was a manipulation woman who smiled pretty smiles and had men and women falling over themselves to proclaim their adoration of her. Severus didn't think he'd ever seen Narcissa's true face.

"Come," Voldemort commanded. "Look into the Pensieve. What do you see?"

Severus and Lucius approached slowly, as if Voldemort could snap out at them at any moment. Voldemort was not known for his patience and he was a demanding Lord. Even still, Severus didn't think he would ever betray the man, no matter that he had killed the woman that Severus had once loved. Voldemort had given Severus a place despite the fact that he was bastard child denied his noble rights.

Severus owned Voldemort his life and loyalty.

"Look," Voldemort urged.

Lucius and Severus exchanged glances once more before they looked down into the bright red gas-liquid. Severus choked on the gasp that had managed to escape his lips.

The boy was beautiful. His lips were plump and red, kissable. His skin was pale as snow; difference from Narcissa and Draco's pale skin. Their skin was the color of bone and ice, brittle and thin, like a membrane. This boy was gorgeous with crimson high in his cheeks from rage. His hair curled messily around his head like a halo.

His eyes. Severus would die if he could stare into those eyes while he did it. He had Lily's eyes.

"That is the Prince of Gryffindor," Severus said, solemnly.

Lucius swallowed. "The Fairest-of-Them-All."

Voldemort nodded.

"Yes. He is. He is the key to this empire. The true heir to the Gilded Throne. He has a claim to the throne that neither I nor my sister could  _ever_  challenge. We took this throne by right of conquest. He can take it back by right of blood. We must hunt him down. Do you understand me?" Voldemort asked, voice so soft as he watched the memory of the Fairest. Voldemort brushed his fingers across the gas-liquid and jerked it away, as if he had been burned.

"My Lord, do you have any idea where he could be?" Lucius asked.

Voldemort looked at him with narrowed eyes. Lucius didn't flinch away. He knew that the Dark Lord would not appreciate them showing fear in the face of adversary, even if that adversary was himself. Voldemort had taught them that emotion—any emotion—could be used against them. Otherwise, you would have to leave Voldemort's service.

If one left the Death Eaters, it wasn't by choice. You left because you were dead.

"He could be anywhere. Fawkes is a very smart bird," Voldemort acknowledged grudgingly.

Severus' eyes widened. The phoenix had appeared. Then, it was the Prince. There was no question about the boy's identity.

"Have you scryed for the boy?" Lucius suggested.

"Aye. He is behind very powerful wards. A modified Fidelius Charm, layers of protective enchantments. The wards are most likely anchored," Voldemort drawled, fury changing his mood.

Severus nodded again. So, nearly impenetrable wards. The boy was untraceable. And still, they would try to find him. Voldemort turned from him, running a vicious hand through his black hair, mussing it. Severus frowned when he saw Horcrux on his right side but, the curved blade was missing from his left.

"My Lord?"

"What is it, Lucius?" Voldemort asked without turning around.

"Where is your knife? The knife that—"

Voldemort spun around, his eyes the color of hellfire. Fury rolled off him in waves and Severus took a step back. Lucius flinched so hard, he slammed in Severus' shoulder.

"That wretched child took it. But, I shall have it back along with his heart. Prepare yourselves. We leave in seventy-two hours. At dawn."

* * *

  **MIRROR**

* * *

 

"Narcissa."

The blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman looked up, sharply, her eyes glittering in slight interest. She looked up and down at her husband smirking at his robes, so perfectly matching to the gown discarded on the ground. Narcissa ducked under the water one more time before she came up, gasping for air, suds dripping from her naked body. Unashamed, she stepped out, taking up her wand.

"Dry me, my love?" Narcissa drawled.

Lucius lifted his wand and casted the Warming Charm, blasting hot air all over her. Narcissa ran her fingers through her wet hair, plaiting it as she braided. She shivered at the contrast―cold and hot―and her nipples hardened in the open air. Lucius stared. Narcissa smirked as she pulled her nightgown over her head, a long ivory silk thing that had been made to fall over her curves, enticingly.

Lucius crossed his arms over his chest. "I leave in three days. I wished to alert you," Lucius said coolly.

Narcissa's eyes widened and became alight with a sort of wickedness that Lucius recognized. She was  _scheming_.

"Is that so? And are the Death Eaters joining you? Is my brother leading you off for a hint?" Narcissa purred as she approached her husband, running her hands up his chest.

Lucius stared at her impassively, a single pale eyebrow raised in contemplation. His cunning bitch of a wife was trying to lie with him. His lovely cunning bitch of a wife. He grinned, settling his hands on her wide hips. Narcissa leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

They did not love each other. They never had.

Lucius had pledged his loyalty to Voldemort long before he had married Narcissa and, Narcissa did not take kindly to such a thing. But, she was a beautiful woman and he couldn't leave her. She would kill him out of utter humiliation and, it was far safer to be in her good graces than out of them. She was Lady of the Coin for a reason.

"No. The Dark Lord, Severus, and I will go alone. We shan't discuss it though so, don't try to seduce a word out of me, Cissa," Lucius warned.

Narcissa's eyes brightened with elation for a moment before she settled against his chest, rubbing her body against his.

"Ah...then I shall begin planning a grand party to celebrate a successful hunt," she murmured as she took him by his hands and led him out of the bathing room and into her bedroom. "Lie with me, my love."

Lucius smirked and unbuttoned his jerkin. Narcissa ripped his shirt from his shoulders and laughed when he grabbed her by the waist and pushed her onto the bed. When he was on top of her, she no longer pretended to smile.

She moaned in the right places as he thrusted away, kept his head tucked into the side of her neck while she stared at the canopy of her bed. She whimpered and mewled as she plotted, the plan sliding into place before she even conjured the thoughts.

She would have to do it, quickly and without prior thought. Voldemort could read minds when he cared to and Severus was perceptive. No, these thoughts were for the night, hidden under the false pleasure that her husband gave her.

Seventy-two hours and then...and  _then_...

* * *

  **ON**

* * *

 

The room he had been given was beautiful. It was fully furnished with a large plush goose feather bed and heavy blankets that would keep him warm in a way that Harry had never been. There was a long mirror and Tonks had promised that they were going to  _make_ him a new wardrobe. It made Harry feel guilty. He got such a nice room when many lived in tents.

But, Ron had said that wasn't a problem. Apparently, wizarding tents were much nicer on the inside than the outside. But, still, Harry lived in the manor with a fireplace. The manor was called the Burrow II, after the rickety, tall house that Ron had lived in with his family when his parents had been alive.

Ron had only spoken on his parents once. He said that they were dead and left it at that. Ginny hadn't spoken at all, turning white at the mention of it. Harry made a note not to ask again. These people weren't like him. They had actually known their parents.

Harry looked at himself in the mirror. He didn't look like a Prince. He looked like Harry Evans, the ratty boy in the too-big clothes. And yet, he was Harry  _Potter_. He had escaped the Dark Lord and with a souvenir, no less. He was the long-lost Heir to the Gilded Throne. Harry could  _do_ something about the world that he lived in.

He was getting a wand. According to McGonagall, at least. He could only use his fire without a wand and apparently, he needed lessons. He would finally train his magic properly and get  _formal_ lessons with a sword. Harry wasn't sure how formal duelling would help in a war. But, he'd be able to be scrappy when he needed to be. It didn't matter, at least.

Harry was just glad that he wasn't being treated like Queen Bellatrix.

Harry wasn't just the pretty one. He wasn't just the Fairest-of-Them-All. He wouldn't allow people to dictate what he said or did. He would not let people fight  _for_ him because he would fight  _with_ them.

He was no one's figurehead.

They wanted a warrior king and he would give them one.

And that was his vow.

* * *

  **THE**

* * *

 

"This will be a long hard journey," Lucius murmured to Severus, low enough that he didn't disturb their Lord as he threw two bags over the side of his horse, magically expanded to house everything that he might need.

"A journey that may be fruitless. You heard what our Lord said. The kind of wards that protect the boy," Severus said, shortly, his voice even lower than Lucius'. Their Lord wouldn't take kindly to the implication that something was impossible for him.

"He wants the boy, he'll get the boy," Lucius said, firmly, and the two exchanged grim looks.

Whatever their Lord wanted, their Lord made it happen by any means necessary.

"Time to go, my Lord?" Severus asked, mounting his own palfrey and adjusting one of the side satchels. He stiffly pulled his cloak around himself. It was scorching on the Hogwarts grounds, eternally summer, but, outside, winter was fast approaching.

He wasn't excited for the frigid nights. Magic only did so much in the special type of cold that permeated the Forbidden Forest.

"Yes. It is dawn," Voldemort said, leading his palfrey from the stable, hissing softly at her, as if she were his pet snake, Nagini.

Severus followed the Dark Lord out of the stable when Voldemort came to an abrupt stop. Severus craned his neck to see past his Lord but, the Dark Lord's gaze was trained downwards.

"My Lord."

Voldemort dismounted as he stared at the girl. She was so tiny in comparison to him. He could crush her neck with one hand, and still, she looked unafraid. Severus and Lucius exchanged glances. Voldemort looked down at the girl.

"It's Luna, my Lord," she reminded him, patiently, cradling something in her hands. "You...you saved me. The Muggles were going to burn me."

Voldemort's eyes widened. "Ah, yes. What is it that you need, girl?"

Luna stepped closer and offered the round object wrapped in a small linen rag. Voldemort took it, cradling it.

"This belonged to my mother," Luna whispered and Voldemort frowned as he looked down at the cement colored stone, oblong and round. Luna smiled sweetly. "Press it into the cradle of the statue's hands and cover it in ash."

"What is it?" Lucius asked, his nose wrinkled.

"Fairy magic, my Lord. This stone will react once it touches fire. Please, my Lord. Place it as an offering in Lily's hands," Luna said, dreamily. Severus stiffened at the mention of the Princess' name but, Voldemort didn't react. He only stared at the stone.

"This is…" he began.

Luna smiled. "It is."

Voldemort nodded once and moved to slide it into the satchel on the side of his horse.

The sun brokes it ways from the horizon and the Dark Lord mounted his stallion easily. He looked over his shoulder. Lucius sat astride his white stallion. Severus rested, uneasy, on the bay horse that the Dark Lord had gifted him just a few years ago for his decades-long service.

Voldemort pushed his uneasy servants from his mind. He had a goal.

He had spoken to Bellatrix and she had whole-heartedly agreed with his plan. She had calmed from their spat after he had healed her broken nose. Then, she had headbutted him, breaking his own nose. He had punched her in the face for that and she had just laughed, cracking her own nose into place and setting it. After that, Bellatrix had not shouted scathing insults nor had she used his birth name. She had simply stared at him, with her lustful gaze.

Once upon a time, Voldemort  _may_  have given Bellatrix what she desired. But, now...now, he had seen  _genuine_  beauty.

Beauty that was not granted by Darkness and he could no longer think of any woman or man as beautiful. Not even himself.

Not when his nights―usually dreamless nights―were so full of lips of blood, hair as black as midnight, and skin, pale as fresh snow. That was true beauty and Voldemort knew, that even in death, with chest carved open and ribcage broken wide, Harry Potter of House Gryffindor would  _still_  be beautiful.

"My Lord? Are we off?" Lucius asked.

The Dark Lord glanced behind him one more time. The girl, Luna, smiled sweetly at him. He remembered her as a girl, tied to the stake in a faraway land, eyes bright like her mother's. Pandora...spinning curses on her spinning wheel. Pandora, with eyes bright with flame. Pandora. He might've called her a friend and this girl looked so much like  _Pandora_.

Voldemort looked up. Bellatrix stood on the balcony of the North Tower, where the Seer was house. She was staring at him and he could feel her piercing violet stare. She expected a heart, raw and bloody. He expected a  _heart_. He had no time for altars of phoenixes and ashes and stones.

But, Pandora's girl. Pandora. Pandora who begged, Pandora who died. Pandora who saw farther than any. Pandora who he had found in a bog in goblin country, escaping her fate until they had caught her. Pandora, who had spoke blackness into his heart. Pandora. This girl who looked so like Pandora who looked so like Helena.

"Girl, you say bury it in the ashes of the statue's hand?" Voldemort asked.

"Aye, my Lord," Luna said. "Honor my mother, my Lord? My mother who taught you about your own reflection."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "Aye, girl. I shall honor her."

"My Lord," Severus said, firmly, his shrewd, black gaze trained on the girl's dreamy face.

"Aye. Off."

* * *

  **WALL**

* * *

 Harry yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he sat upon in his  _extremely_ soft mattress. He frowned, looking around. His mattress was made upon of a threadbare sheet and straw. Harry reached to the side, groping for his glasses and he jammed them on his face. Harry grinned.

Every day, for the past week, he had woken up, expecting to be back in Little Whinging in his little attic room. And every day, he was pleasantly reminded that he had escaped to this place. The Burrow II. His bones ached from intensive training, which he had begun with Ron the day after his arrival. He had a full belly from a great meal last night. The camp had their own cattle and raised their own chickens and pheasants. So, everyone had  _something_  to eat every night.

His sheets were made of light cotton, not scratchy burlap, and he had a heavy velvet comforter that kept him warm, like his fireplace. The pillows were stuffed with goosefeathers instead of straw. Harry could have stayed in the luxuriously made bed for hours but, he knew the routine. He cocked his head, waiting for the door.

There a heavy knock.

She didn't wait for an answer. The door swung open with a resounding slam and Harry jumped so hard, he pulled the curved knife from under his pillow and the flames in the fireplace brightened from dying embers to a roar.

Tonks held up her hands in surrender, pushing her red hood down from her head. Harry looked at her hair in surprise. She no longer had pink hair as she had had for the past week but, now long turquoise hair that fell down to her hips.

"Wotcher, Prince…"

"It's  _just_  Harry. You've seen me naked, Tonks," Harry reminded her, flushing at the reminder of when Tonks had come into his room the first day as he was changing out of his night clothes into a pair of borrowed robes.

Tonks nodded with a lazy grin and she slunk into the room, her red cloak billowing behind her to reveal a low cut, provocative cream coloured dress that drew attention to her ample bosom.

"Wotcher,  _Harry._  The wandmaker is finally here. Get dressed and be downstairs soon," Tonks said, tossing a bundle of clothing on his bed and she fell into a clumsy curtsey that she nearly fell out of.

Harry burst into a round of laughter and she responded with a grin and a rude gesture before she stumbled out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Harry sat in silence for a moment. So, the new clothes were finally here. This place was so different from the Dursleys. He had always worn Dudley's old clothing. Petunia and Vernon though it a waste of cloth and galleons to have clothing made for him when Dudley's would him just as well.

Harry swallowed and stripped out of his night clothes and tossed it to the ground, leaving him naked. Harry no longer felt cold anymore. His skin burned hotter since he had first summoned the Fire. He slipped on the find leather trousers and the billowing cotton shirt. When he slipped on the emerald green jerkin, he smiled. He looked like a  _prince_.

Harry grabbed for his knife and he didn't bother with shoes as he walked out of the room.

Tonks was leaning against the wall and she grinned when she saw him. She hooked arms with him and stuck close.

"He's here. Come on, Harry," Tonks urged as she led him down the long hallway, past the open doors where some of the other Order members peeked in, curiosity written on their faces.

Harry did not flush under their gazes, opting to face forward and walk arm-in-arm with Tonks. As they they turned into the meeting room,a room that Harry had found doubled as a dining area, Harry took in the gazes of the primary Order members.

The Weasleys were all gathered, whispering to each other. Harry looked over them, going through names in his head again. Bill. Charlie. Percy. Fred and George. He wasn't sure which was which yet but, he'd learn. Ginny. Ron. They gathered around Ginny, as if she were their leader. She was stone-faced. How appropriate.

McGonagall sat to the left of the head of the table, wearing blue tartan robes. Remus waited, staring at Harry again with that wide-eyed look that he'd had all week, when he wasn't actively trying to  _avoid_  Harry. Tonks danced over to the open seat next to Remus and collapsed into it.

"I wondered when I'd be seeing  _you_ , Prince Harry."

Harry looked at the old man, standing a few feet behind the open chair at the head of the table. He had pale silvery eyes and looked nearly ageless. There was something omniscient about him and and it frightened him.

"Yes?" Harry murmured.

"Your Highness, I am Ollivander. The wandmaker."

* * *

  **WHO**

* * *

 

Hermione smiled to herself as she finally crept away from Luna, with her strange tales of nargles and Blibberings Humdingers and Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. She loved Luna dearly; the girl was her only friend. But, there was only so many made-up stories about imaginary creatures that Hermione could take, especially when Hermione wanted to desperately know more about Albion history and Luna was reluctant to share.

And then she heard it. The chanting.

Hermione frowned as she went down the deserted hallway. This hallway looked unused, as if it had not been visited for some time. Hermione crept forward, on her toes, grateful that her silk slippers didn't make a sound. They weren't like those horrid glass things that Fleur had slipped onto her feet, the slippers that she had  _bled_  in, the slippers Draco kept in his rooms as a trophy.

The language was sibilant, more hissing than anything else. She peeked through the crack in the door and nearly let out a whine.

Narcissa, the Duchess and Warden of the East, stood before a bubbling cauldron, dropping terrible things into the bubbling blackness. Galleons soaked in blood, violently coloured liquids, amethysts the color of the Queen's eyes, and strands of hair. So much  _hair_. And she was stirring the horrid mess with her wand, owning it, putting her emotion into it, and Hermione saw her eyes. It was terrible hatred and cold fury, burning brighter than anything Hermione had ever seen.

Hermione read enough to know that this was blood magic.

She swallowed hard, taking a step back and nearly fell as she stumbled over something. The last Granger clapped a hand to her mouth and swallowed a scream as she saw the poisonous green snake. It was so  _long_  and large, neverending. The snake must have been twelve feet long and it was thick as an adult man's thigh. It stopped, slowly turning its great flat head at her, staring at her with bright yellow eyes. It reared higher, yawning its large mouth and showing off shiny flat fangs.

"Hush," a voice urged, low and quiet in her ear. Hermione looked over her shoulder at Luna.

Luna wasn't smiling. She was staring at the snake who flicked its tongue at her and then fell back down, sliding forward and brushing by Hermione's skirts into the room Narcissa occupied. Luna grabbed Hermione by the elbow and dragged her back down the hallway, pushing her into a more occupied space, where servants went about, not paying her any mind.

Hermione released a breath she hadn't known she was holding, gasping wildly.

"W-what was  _that_?" Hermione snarled.

Luna narrowed eyes. "That was Nagini. The Dark Lord's snake. It is watching while he is gone," Luna warned.

Hermione swallowed and leaned forward, whispering hurriedly, "Princess Narcissa, she was doing something. Blood magic, Luna. I could  _feel_  it. What-"

"Hush," Luna said, far harsher than she ever had before. "Do not speak it. Narcissa has spies everywhere, especially around you."

"Why  _me_?" Hermione hissed.

"You will marry her darling boy. One day, you will have the ability to establish control over that boy with the thing between your thighs. That day, Narcissa will lose more power than she already has. She was once a frontrunner to succeed her father. She looked the most like her mother, and Salazar favored her as much as he did Voldemort. But, now, she does not take kindly to being third-best. You best avoid her," Luna warned.

Hermione shook her head. "She's  _plotting_ and the Dark Lord isn't here and-"

"She's  _always_  plotting," Luna interrupted. Her gaze softened. "Things are happening, Lady Granger. But, do not worry about what the Dark Lord sees or hears. After all, Nagini is watching."

* * *

  **IS**

* * *

 

Harry stared at the blocks of wood laid along the table before him. The Order had vacated their seats, choosing to line the walls, staring with excitement. Ron was whispering loudly to Ginny and she constantly hushed him, her eyes on the process. Ollivander waited, patiently.

Harry brushed his fingers along the long chunks of wood. He passed by the ebony and vine wood, easily. His hands flinched away from the walnut and the rosewood. The pear was interested but not right. The pine perhaps but... _no_. It was strange for Harry to consider the wood as sentient but, it was true. Harry could feel it. They were repulsed by him or intrigued and he felt the same.  
Harry stopped at the end of the table and his knees buckled as he felt the pale wood in front of him. A soft sound emerged from his mouth and he stroked the wood with reference. It called to him... _screamed_ at him.

"Yew?" Ollivander asked, softly, as if this was a great surprise to him.

"No...I...it just wanted to say hello," Harry whispered, tearing his hand away with great effort and he looked at the last block of wood.

This wood was quiet. He pressed his fingers to it and gasped when as his fingers sparked and the dark brown block of wood glowed. It floated for a minute before it fell back down to the table.

Ollivander's lips curled into a smile. "Holly."

Harry nodded and he bit his lip as Ollivander came closer to him. The old man reached into his velvet waistcoat and pulled out a measuring tape. The green-eyed boy squirmed nervously as Ollivander wrapped the tape around his forearm and then measured the length of his arm from shoulder to finger tips.

"Eleven inches will do," he said.

The old man stared at him hard before he turned to the anxious Order members.

"Garrick?" McGonagall asked, softly.

"I believe the Prince and I are in need of great privacy, my friends," Ollivander said.

The Weasleys groaned in protest and McGonagall shook his head, shuffling everyone out. Harry swallowed hard as he sat on the edge of the table, watching everyone file out. Moody casted him another suspicious look while McKinnon watched him with disdain. He only received a smile from Tonks and a strange look from Remus. When they were alone, Harry turned to Ollivander. Ollivander was smiling.

"What?" Harry asked.

"We're in need of a core, your Highness," Ollivander said.

Harry winced. "Oh, please don't call me that," he whispered. "And what do you mean, a core?"

"The wood is sentient, yes, but it is not magic. Not yet. Sometimes, we use dragon heartstring from the petrified hearts of the long-gone dragons. Sometimes, a Veela hair―if one wants a volatile wand. Rougarou hair. Dittany stalk. Unicorn tail hair," Ollivander listed.

Harry's eyes widened. "Something natural? From something...living," he whispered.

"Aye," Ollivander agreed. "I have cores in my trunk if you'd like―"

"No," Harry rushed. His cheeks flushed under Ollivander's gaze. "I...well...I've got.  _Fawkes_."

Ollivander gasped as a burst of flames erupted over Harry's head and his eyes widened as the phoenix emerged from the flames, landing gracefully on Harry's shoulder, butting his beak gently against Harry's cheek. Harry laughed, pressing a kiss to the long swan-like neck.

"A phoenix. Fawkes," Ollivander whispered.

Harry didn't pay him any mind. "Fawkes, I'd like to ask a gift of you. It might be too much and, it's okay. If it is. But, I'd like a tail feather. For my core. Would that be alright?" he asked, gently and Fawkes tilted his head and cooed, draping his tail over Harry's shoulder. Harry grinned. "Thank you!"

Gently, Harry worked free a long feather, rich with its shades of red and gold, glinting in the daylight from the windows. He offered it to Ollivander.

"This...this will work," Ollivander whispered in wonder. "Thank you again, Fawkes."

Fawkes trilled and hopped off of Harry's shoulder, opening his wings and soaring to the window sill, his long tail draped across the floor. Harry grinned.

"What now?" Harry asked.

Ollivander settled the block of wood and feather on the table before him and pulled free a knife that was not dissimilar to the knife Harry had stolen from Voldemort.

"Now, I work. And we speak," Ollivander decided. Harry leaned forward, curious as Ollivander began to whittle away at the block of wood. "Harry Potter, have you ever loved?"

Harry flushed. "No."

"Good," Ollivander decided. "Love is the death of duty, Harry Potter."

"That's a terribly sad thing to say," Harry whispered and Ollivander smiled, grimly, and nodded. He bent his head again and continued to work. "I would like to love one day."

"Aye you shall. You shall have a great and terrible love one day, my Prince," Ollivander said as he finished creating a hollow in the wood. He took up the phoenix feather with great care and slid it into the hollow breathing life onto it.

"Are you seer, Mr. Ollivander?" Harry asked.

Ollivander laughed. "No. I'm just old. And you are but a boy without a crown."

"I never wanted a crown and I like being a boy," Harry retorted. Ollivander laughed again, shaking his head as he ran his wand over the block of wood and began to chant.

Harry stared wide-eyed as the man seemed to sing ancient words and spells, speaking knowledge and life into the block of wood. He watched the wood seemingly melt―but, that couldn't be true since wood burned and only in fire. Suddenly, the wood  _did_ catch fire and Harry gasped, reaching for the broken pieces of his wand. Ollivander nearly cried out before he stopped himself and Harry wrapped his fingers around the block.

"Wait, no―"Harry began and he gasped when the fire extinguished, leaving him a long eleven inch wooden rod, glossy and beautiful. He dropped it, flinching and Ollivander caught it in his gloved hands.

"A boy without a crown," Ollivander whispered. Harry wrapped his arms around himself, wide-eyed. "Every person that has sat on those thrones, until now, has been a child. Overgrown children ruling common folk that they do not know nor do they want to know. Are you a boy, Harry Potter?"

"Yes?" Harry asked.

"Kill the boy, Harry Potter, and let the man be born," Ollivander warned.

Harry swallowed hard and opened his mouth to respond. Ollivander smiled when he couldn't and he went to his trunk, pulling forth a long slim box lined with velvet, settling the wand within it. Ollivander turned back to him.

"I will summon the Order. I'm sure they'd like to see  _this_ ," Ollivander said with a small smile.

Harry watched the man leave, stricken by their conversation. He turned to look at Fawkes but, Fawkes cooed at him, his eyes never leaving Harry's face. Harry heard the Order members file in, whispering to themselves.

"His wand…"

"The core is...Fawkes is…"

" _Fawkes_."

Harry turned back to stare at the wand sitting in the lined box of velvet. He bit his lip, looking particularly reluctant. He had gotten on well without a wand before. He only needed his fire.

"Pick it up, Harry."

Harry looked up at Ginny, pressed against the far wall, surrounded by her brother's. Everyone's eyes fell on her and Ginny's ear turned a bright pink. Harry grinned softly. He looked back to Ollivander and the older man nodded.

Harry's hand moved of its own accord and his fingers curled around the smooth rod of holly wood. The Fire roared with happiness and his eyes widened as he lifted his wand into the air. He gasped. Magic spread through him, from the crown of his head to the ends of his toes.

He felt  _alive._

That song, the phoenix song filled the air, and then doubled. Harry looked over his shoulder. Fawkes was singing, the phoenix lament harmonizing through the air. And then, gold and crimson flames spurted from the end of his holly wand in a magical display. The flames took the shape of a phoenix and it soared around around him, making the hair on his arms stand on end before disappearing as quickly as it came.

The Order gasped, whispering in awe but, Harry only had eyes for Ollivander.

"Curious. Very curious, indeed."

Harry frowned. "What's curious?" he asked as he sat down in his chair and looked up at Ollivander.

Ollivander's expression grew distant and his colourless eyes glazed over as he lost himself in a memory.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Harry Potter, and every want that I've ever made. Wand cores are hard to come by. Phoenix tail feathers even harder. Long ago, Fawkes chose another. A friend. And Fawkes donated a feather. Just like yours. Just  _one_  other," Ollivander said, and his words sounded heavy.

"My mother?" Harry asked.

Ollivander shook his head. "No. It's curious that you should be destined for this wand, when the owner of its  _brother_...carved your mother's heart out with that knife."

Harry's eyes widened at the implications. He ran his hand over the rod of his wand, staring at it.

"The Dark Lord," Harry said.

Ollivander nodded. "Before he was the Dark Lord...before he was Voldemort...he was called another name, Harry Potter. And the wand  _chose_ that wizard. By  _that_ name. It's not always clear why. The wand that I crafted for him was made of yew and a phoenix tail feather. For certain wizards,  _great_  wizards, it is necessary for him to have a hand in the crafting, as you did. I think it is clear that we can expect great things from you. After all...the Dark Lord does great things…terrible, yes, but  _great_."

Harry nodded as he recalled the crimson eyes that had bored into his. He felt a chill run up his spine as he thought of strong jaws and dark smirks. The rough velvet of his voice. The impressive,  _oppressive_ , darkness of his magic.

"What was his name, Mr. Ollivander?" Harry asked.

Ollivander smiled, slyly and leaned forward until he was close enough that only Harry would hear his words. And Ollivander breathed, " _Kingmaker._ "

* * *

  **FAIREST**

* * *

 

His wand was vibrating.  _Singing_.

For the second time within a week's time, he heard the phoenix's lament, as powerful as it had been the night that Lily had died. Voldemort closed his eyes, listening to the song.

He was aware that his most trusted had stopped behind him and were staring at him with open incredulity. He paid no mind to them, revelling in the call. This was a first and Voldemort had thought that all of his first in life had been long past.

Voldemort's brow furrowed and his left hand tightened on the leather of his reins for just a moment before he reminded himself to relax. His horse stiffened beneath him, feeling it as well. These was a disturbance. Something powerful and raw fell heavy upon all three mean. Voldemort could smell burning incense and smoke in the air. His eyes widened in utter delight.

His lips curled into a smile as the familiar fire washed over him and his wand vibrated harder and harder. He pulled back his arm and thrusted his wand high into the air. A burst of frigid air and ice erupted from the end of his wand, cold enough to rival the blizzards of the North. It disappeared as soon as it came.

"What was that, my Lord?" Lucius whispered.

"I know where the Fairest is," Voldemort whispered. "We have been going towards Little Whinging but, the boy is South. I thought it foolish for him to be South and so, I thought to go where they thought we might not venture. But, the Order are either fools or geniuses alike. I wonder about their leader."

"He is formidable. A tactician and a genius, I hear," Severus confirmed. He rode forward until he was just on his Lord's left. "Do we double back and right South, then, my Lord?"

"No," Voldemort said immediately. "Not yet. We are close to the tower."

"You're really going to go, my Lord? Aye, it is a league or two away but, depending on how far South we must go, it is another five days of travel. A week at most. We traverse across the continent," Lucius reminded him and he fell silent when the Dark Lord glared at him with bright red eyes.

"We go to the tower. Or do you question Lord Voldemort's ability to create a simple  _Portkey_ , if need be?" Voldemort asked, dangerously.

Lucius dropped his head. "No. My Lord. I apologize."

Voldemort nodded once and urged his palfrey forward, galloping along the path. He could see the crumbling tower above the trees, the wards long gone. Except there were new ones. Flimsy and alerted someone to anyone approaching. No matter. Voldemort had a stone to deliver, to honor the woman that had shone him and his sister a path to immortality, a path that she had never accomplished.

When they broke into the clearing, Voldemort brought his horse to an abrupt stop. He stared.

At the base of the tower was a mausoleum; bright, white and marble. He wasn't sure why he expected Lily to be rotting where he left her, but he had. Instead, someone had made a martyr of her. The doors of her mausoleum bore the image of a phoenix. More importantly, they were cracked open. Voldemort dismounted, and reached for the stone in the satchel. He cradled it in both hands. It was warm to the touch, as if it was a heart, beating like Helena's and Lily's had beat before he'd torn them from their chests.

"Wait for me here. I do not wish to be disturbed," Voldemort warned.

Severus opened his mouth, as if to protest, before he thought better of it. Voldemort walked towards the mausoleum and shouldered it open. He stared into yawning mouth of darkness and began his descent. The Queen's brother had never been afraid of the dark, even as a child, so many years ago. Even then, he knew, subconsciously perhaps, that he  _was_ the darkness. The descent was long and unwieldy but, when he found the bottom, he stared along the long crypt, the trough of oil burning, as if they were waiting for him.

He was sure that she was in the stone wall, buried in the foundations of the tower, probably with her blood traitor husband. But, he only had eyes for the statue.

It looked just like her, painstakingly so. The roundness of her jaw, the sternness of her mouth. Long hair spilling around her to her feet. This was the Lily he had seen before she had died, defiant until the very end. Her eyes were emeralds. Harry Potter truly did have his mother's eyes. Voldemort had nearly forgotten what Lily looked like.

Her hands were cupped together in front of her, in offering. Voldemort approached, slowly, under the immortal judgment of her gaze and he laid the stone in the ashes the marble statue bared in her hands. He brushed his fingers against the cold marble.

The Fairest had been here.

He could feel it in the air, heavy and daunting and holy in ways that he did not understand.

Voldemort stood there for a long moment, watching Lily's statue. It was almost as if she were watching back.

When he finally emerged, the sun was far lower in the sky than before and Lucius and Severus watched him in worry. Voldemort silently mounted his horse.

"It is done," he said. "Now, to the South."

* * *

  **OF**

* * *

 

"He is not back. He should be back to us," Bellatrix stuttered to herself.

Narcissa sighed. "Nine days isn't long for a hunt, dear sister. Soon, he will be back with the spoils."

Narcissa stood behind her sister, a light smile upon her face as she pulled the amethyst-encrusted comb through the Queen's luxurious black hair. It was so beautiful and thick, yet soft like silk

"I was once jealous of your hair," Narcissa said, softly as she combed through the tangles and snarls from the day, preparing to braid the wet mop as Bellatrix did nearly every night. "It's so heavy and long and dark. You look like a Slytherin."

Bellatrix's lips twitched into a smug little smile. Narcissa leaned forward, pressing her chin onto Bellatrix's shoulder, pressing their cheeks together. Bellatrix looked at their reflection with serious purple eyes. Narcissa hummed. Bellatrix was lucid tonight.

 _Good_.

"What is it, Cissy?"

Narcissa nearly winced at the nickname from childhood. Her father had called her 'Cissy'. Helena had called her 'Cissy'. Slowly, Narcissa turned to look Bellatrix in the face. They were only an inch or two apart. Bellatrix didn't flinch away, perfectly content with their close proximity. Narcissa ran her fingers through Bellatrix's thick hair again.

"I fear for the empire," Narcissa confessed, the perfect amount of submission and reluctance in her face. Bellatrix pulled away so that she could focus on Narcissa's face.

"And why...is that?"

Narcissa bit her bottom and lowered her gaze. She bit harder, forcing her smile away. It had taken Narcissa years and years to master herself. It had taken her years to become ice and stone. To become a diamond.

"The common folk are not happy. The court is offended by the war we fight, offended that we are preparing to tax them as we tax the common folk. The forests and their lands are being ravaged in skirmishes with the Order. There is talk of rebellion," Narcissa said, spinning her tales. Bellatrix looked at her, thoughtfully. "All is not well. You... _we_  are slipping. The Mortem Phoenix ceremony was near disaster. At the ball, I heard talk. They were questioning you. They saw how you faltered during the speech."

Bellatrix's lip curled. "We finished our speech."

"I know our brother dictated you," Narcissa said, keeping her voice carefully apologetic.

Bellatrix's cheeks flushed with humiliation. Narcissa gave her a rueful smile, waiting. Bellatrix nodded, slowly, confirming what Narcissa already knew to be true. Narcissa sighed. She wondered how her family  _still_  thought that she was slow-all but Andromeda. Narcissa was shrewd. All she did was for the good of the empire, the good of her family, and the wellbeing of her son.

"Narcissa...we shall address this when our brother returns. He shall know what to do."

Bellatrix smiled, happy with her decision. Narcissa gave her sister another pitying look and she stood, pulling the comb through her hair again, settling it behind hear. The amethysts glinted malevolently.

"Sister, I'm afraid not. We won't be addressing with our brother. Not at all."

Bellatrix frowned. She asked, "Why ever not?"

"We shall be preoccupied, my dear," Narcissa said, smiling pleasantly. "A funeral and a coronation are large events to plan. Even for me."

Bellatrix froze and Narcissa's hand pressed hard against the older woman's shoulder. Narcissa pulled her wand at the same moment Bellatrix reached for hers. The unyielding wand of walnut and dragon heartstring exploded, splinters decorating the counter of the vanity. Bellatrix let out a horrid scream as she grasped for the sinewy core, pulling tight to her chest, cradling it. Narcissa stared down at her coldly.

" _Incarcerous_ ," Narcissa with a flick of her wrist and Bellatrix fell to the floor as ropes sprung forward, wrapping around her. " _Diffindo_."

A chunk of Bellatrix's dark black hair fell to the ground and Narcissa scooped it up, busily unstoppering a vial hanging from her waist. She dropped a lock into the mud-colored potion, thick and sludge-like.

"Narcissa,  _don't_ ," Bellatrix squealed, inching away, sliding against the marble floors like the little worm that she had become.

Narcissa remembered her sister, vaguely. Before it had all started. Before Bellatrix had dipped her toe into Black magic, aging faster than she should. Before she sustained herself on blood and hearts. Before she had begun to speak in third person. Before Helena. Narcissa  _remembered_  her sister, the formidable Bellatrix Slytherin. How far they had come.

"I'm afraid that our brother is not here to save you. You have, in all your failings, nearly destroyed this kingdom. You are no longer fit to rule."

Bellatrix bared her teeth and let out a terrible sound, a cross being a squeal and a roar. Narcissa smiled, coldly.

"Treason is punishable by  _death_. We do not make exceptions!" Bellatrix shrieked, twisting and turning on the ground, rubbing her skin raw with ropes. Narcissa towered over her, raising a single ash blonde eyebrow. "What is that you hope to achieve, Narcissa?"

Narcissa felt icy fury. "You never deserved this. You don't deserve what he gave you. It was supposed to be mine. Father knew it. Mother knew it. Gideon and Rowena and Helga knew it. I was born for this. You were born into madness, with the name Chaos-Bringer. What king could come out of that?"

"You believe in fates and names far too much for you own good," Bellatrix snarled, throwing herself against the ground in a fit to free herself.

"You never deserved this. If it wasn't me, it was him. Brother. I was most like him. I created myself in his image. So why you?" Narcissa snarled, her voice rage turning her voice low and guttural.

Bellatrix smiled, deranged and furious.

"Because we are more beautiful than you could ever hope to be. And what does our dear brother love more than anything?" Bellatrix baited.

Narcissa whispered, "Beauty."

"Yes, beauty," Bellatrix said, fully of malicious pity. "Beauty makes gods and my brother loves me like the gods.

Narcissa's lip quivered.

"I  _kill_  gods," Narcissa snarled. "I shall take away the one thing that you hold over  _me_."

Narcissa fell to her knees, heavily and the fallen Queen bared her teeth and growled, fearl, wordlessly promising retribution. Narcissa's lips pulled back and she shook her head, Silencing her with a wave of her wand.

"You were a fool, Bella. In your years of failing to rule and being content with it, you have forgotten that this... _life_  is a chess game. Checkmate."

Narcissa cast a Cutting Charm and Bellatrix gave a silent cry. Narcissa watched blood well and she dragged her finger through it, smearing it on her hand. She yanked the silver comb out of Bellatrix's hair, long locks still attached, torn from the root. Narcissa smeared Bellatrix's blood all over it, smiling softly as she worked. And when the blood touched the amethysts, it began.

"Beauty is power. And you no longer have it," Narcissa whispered, kissing her sister's cheek.

Narcissa watched as the comb began to act, leeching at Bellatrix's black magic, taking everything that she had to offer.

Including, her beauty.

Bellatrix's long, luscious black hair thinned and turned a dull silvery grey before it lightened to white, falling from her head in clumps. Her skin wrinkled until the lines were deep as the Earth and her jaw sagged. Liver spots marked her arms, her chest, her neck. She seemed to shrink, folding into herself, her skin collapsing, arms fattening, belly fattening. Narcissa pulled the comb from her sister's hair and smiled, waving her wand.

The ropes fell away and the Silencing Charm ended.

"What...what did you  _do_  to us? What did you do to Bellatrix Chaos-Bringer?" Bellatrix whispered, her voice croaking. With a quiet moan, she sat up and looked at the wall-tall mirror. She froze as she saw the old crone staring back at ehr.

"You are no longer beautiful," Narcissa said, softly. "On my fifteenth annual, I got a name too. I am Narcissa Godkiller. Fear me."

And then Bellatrix let out a bloodcurdling scream of grief. Narcissa spun around as the door swung open. A maidservant.  _Perfect._

"Your Majesty?" she whispered, looking at the horrifying scene.

Narcissa lifted her wand.  _"Imperio_."

The girl stiffened, her eyes glazing over and swiftly, she closed the door and marched over to Narcissa's side. Bellatrix moaned, pulling her dressing robe tighter around her misshapen body, weeping like the old crone that she had become. Narcissa pulled forth the vile potion.

"Take this," Narcissa said, her voice cold.

The maidservant did as she was bid and she violently convulsed as the potion immediately began to take effect. Her face bubbled and Narcissa sneered as her sister's  _beautiful_  face appeared in front of her, full and wonderful and well, she was a beauty. Once. The maidservant waited, perfectly still. A perfect replica of the Queen.

" _Avada Kedavra_."

The Polyjuiced maidservant fell to the ground dead. Bellatrix stared at her own form, purple eyes glassy, and let out a trembling sob. Carefully, Narcissa schooled her face in a look of grief and agony. She winked at Bellatrix before she turned, running towards the doors. She threw the doors open and sobbed, looking up and down the deserted hallway.

" _HELP!_ " she screamed, so loud that her vocal cords felt like they were being ripped to shreds. " _HELP! GUARDS! THE QUEEN! MY SISTER! THE QUEEN! SOMEBODY KILLED MY SISTER! HELP ME! SOMEBODY KILLED MY SISTER!"_

Narcissa turned around, face like stone again. The crone was still staring at her reflection, repulsed and fascinated with her ugliness. Bellatrix spun took glower at her sister, shock and rage twisting her face.

"You'd better leave. They'll think it was you," Narcissa said coldly as she heard the feet pounding.

The Aurors were coming.

Narcissa scrunched her face, willing the tears to spill down her face and she let out a heaving sob, dropping to her knees and holding the maidservant's Polyjuiced potion tight to her body. Trembling with false sobs, she smiled through them at Bellatrix.

"You shall rue this day," Bellatrix whispered. "The day that we return is the day that you shall die. You are a snake."

Narcissa smiled harder through her sobs.

"Thank you," she whispered with a smile before she sobbed again. " _MY SISTER!_ "

Bellatrix crawled towards the mirror as she heard the guards grow closer and closed and with one final look back, she plunged into the mirror and was gone.

* * *

  **THEM**

* * *

 

Harry wiped the sweat off his brow and sighed, pushing sticky tendrils of hair from his face and pushing it behind his ear. Ron grinned at him and lifted the sword again obvious invitation. Harry stayed where he stood, hesitation written on his face. He swallowed, breathing hard.

"I don't...I'm not…" Harry stammered and Ron sighed, lowering his sword. Ron's grin never did leave his tanned, freckled face.

Ginny peeked over from where she practiced with her bow and arrow. She had demonstrated her skills with a bow and arrow when Harry had first training his second day. Even though her weapon of choice was a bow, she had kicked his arse soundly though she'd been impressed with his minimal skills at sword-fighting and had appreciated his willingness to fight dirty. That was not the case with Ron.

Even before this lesson, their first lesson with live blades, Ron had been soft on him. Harry had a collections of bruises but, not nearly as many than the first time that he had sparred with Ginny. Ron apologized profusely after every hiss of pain Harry made. It was frustrating, to say the least.

"Don't give up, Harry. You're good. You have grace and talent. I bet you've inherited something from your family. A lot of people say that your father was one of the best Aurors to ever live and your grandfather was the greatest swordsman of Albion," Ron said, attempting to encourage.

Harry stiffened. Those were big things to live up to along with all of the responsibilities being heaped upon his shoulder.

Night was fast approaching and when the sun died, so did lessons. He was both happy and irritated with how fast the days were passing. It had been another half-week since he'd gotten his wand and he was happier than he had ever been. The first part of his days were spent eating breakfast and learning etiquette from Madame McGonagall and  _Tonks_  of all people. Then, lunch was spent eating while learning about his enemies. Now, swordplay until dusk.

And it was hard. Much harder than what he had done in Godric's Hollow. Gordon had been child's play. These were battle-hardened soldiers. Harry ached and he was tired, 'grace' and 'talent' be damned.

Ron treated him like a girl, half the time, and Harry didn't particularly mind because Ginny was a girl and so was Tonks but, he  _didn't_ appreciate being condescended or treated like he was weak. It was degrading to be helped up after being on your ass and being checked over any little cut when he was  _supposed_  to be leading a war effort.

"I'll go again. Again," Harry said, firmly.

Ron nodded, coming at him slowly and easily with little cuts and jabs that made Harry's cheeks burn in embarrassment.

People were watching them train. Even some of the younger children and senior Order members. Tonks and Remus were watching him with Kingsley Shacklebolt and one sneering Marlene McKinnon. At least Madame McGonagall was inside with Bill, Charlie, Mad-Eye Moody, and some of the other, older Order members. They wouldn't see his fucking shame. All of these people, people that expected her to lead them, were watching Ron treat him like a delicate fucking flower.

And so, instead of parrying as he was supposed to, Harry ducked under the cut and jab and slid into Ron's person space. He spun and dug his bony elbow into Ron's stomach. Ron grunted and stumbled back, his sword flailing in the air.

Something like triumph roared in Harry's chest. He let it flow, sending his sword slashing in a flurry of controlled fury. He imagined that Ron was Gordon, that piece of shit that tried to rape him. Ron's grunts of effort drove Harry on and Harry swiftly turn his sword around Ron's, twisting Ron's grip and unbalancing him, so that Ron threw his arms out, leaving him wide open.

Harry kicked his foot out straight with all of his might. His foot connected with Ron's chest and Ron made a choked sound as he topped to the ground. Harry spun and stood over Ron, pressing the live blade against his neck. There was silence for just a minute, interrupted with a quiet clap. Harry spun and looked at Ginny, who looked impressed though embarrassed by his attention.

The rest of Harry's audience began to applaud as well. Ron looked up Harry, dumbstruck.

"What...what was  _that_?" Ron asked.

"You treat me like a flower. I may be  _pretty_ , Ron—" Harry said, tersely.

"Beautiful," Ron corrected before flushing.

Harry's eyes narrowed in annoyance.

" _Ron_ , I may be beautiful but, that doesn't me any less of a warrior. You all want a warrior. A hero. I can't be that hero if you treat me like I'm something delicate," Harry reprimanded. Ron looked down, mortified about his indirect insult.

Harry smiled, offering his hand to the youngest Weasley boy. Ron took it, allowed Harry to pull him to his feet.

Ron swallowed. "Would you rather train with someone else?" he asked, forlornly, ears still pink.

Harry threw his head back and laughed.

" _No_ ," he said, firmly. He fell into a duelling stance. "Now. Again."

* * *

  **ALL?**

* * *

 

They knew he was coming.

Voldemort grimaced. Passing through the wards to the tower had not been ideal but, he had made a choice. He would deal with it now. They were so proud in their robes, baring the phoenix on their breasts. But, Voldemort only had eyes for the woman in green tartan. It was a tartan that Voldemort remembered seeing since they were both children. Except, she had aged and he had remained beautiful.

"I should've known," Voldemort drawled, staring at the older woman.

The cobbled roads were deserted, but Voldemort saw the men and women and children peeking out through their shutters. The older woman took another step forward, raising her wand. The men and women in battle robes behind her had emblems of phoenixes on their fronts. The Order. McGonagall, the woman that had been the Head of Household in Hogwarts for decades, was practically flaunting the fact that she was a traitor.

Voldemort looked over his shoulder. Lucius and Severus waited atop their horse, solemn and ready to obey any orders.

"Where is he?" Voldemort asked through clenched teeth and Madame McGonagall gave him a cold smile devoid of any humor.

"Asking such a question doesn't guarantee an answer," Madame McGonagall said, mockingly and Voldemort stared back at her through eyes that sent a chill down McGonagall's spine.

"I have heard of you woman. They called you the 'Shield-Maiden of Peace' though you bring war wherever you walk," Voldemort challenged.

McGonagall clenched her jaw. She had come face to face with many monstrous things in her life—the ugliest things—but there was nothing so bone-chilling as the look of hunger in Voldemort of House Slytherin's eyes.

"I will have his heart, woman. Do not think it otherwise. I will have him before me, on his knees, begging for my cock, begging for his  _life_  and then I shall kill him. And I think I shall make you watch," Voldemort added as an afterthought.

McGonagall sneered. "You couldn't kill him if you tried."

"That slip of a boy?" Voldemort scoffed.

"Tom Marvolo, if you believed that the gods loved  _you_ , oh, you've no  _idea_ how much they love Harry Potter."

Voldemort slowly pulled his wand. The Order's soldiers follow suit, pulling sword and wand, at the ready. McGonagall hadn't flinched.

"There is no one more beloved than the Kingmaker, than the Dark Lord," Voldemort countered.

"Except the King," McGonagall retorted.

"Do not test me, woman. Tell me where he is or someone shall pay the price," Voldemort warned and McGonagall stared back at him, her lips pressed into a grim line.

"Come and kill me, then," McGonagall challenged.

Voldemort smiled. It was in that moment that he looked most like his twin sister.

"It shan't be you that pays that price, I'm afraid."

With those words, Voldemort turned towards the inn and smiled. A burst of white light emerged from his wand. The inn exploded and crumbled in on itself. Voldemort's grin widened when he spotted the horror-struck expression on Minerva's face and the men that accompanied her.

" _PROTEGO MAXIMA!_ " she shouted and Voldemort watched as the men around her, began to cast Watering Charms, putting out the flames.

His smile faltered as he saw the Shield Charm flickering in and out in the middle of the destruction. More fucking  _wizards_  in fucking Muggle towns. His only pleasure was found in the fact that the fire was uncontrollable, catching on cottages and villages next door. Madame McGonagall watched in horror as a man engulfed in flames rank from his cottage, his flesh bubbling from the intense heat. She turned away and glowered at Voldemort.

The black smoke rose into the air and colored the day grey.

She looked back to Voldemort and he looked like a giant shadow. Voldemort stared at her darkly, sweat beading on his forehead, but otherwise untouched by the heat of the flames. Voldemort looked over his shoulder at his Knights. He nodded. McGonagall frowned as the Death Eaters dismounted and rushed towards the flaming homes, dragging out  _children_ , of all things.

"Tell your sweet little prince that I did this because of him. Tell him that I shall burn this empire to ashes and when I am done, I will break him. I will make the silly boy bleed and I shall drink his blood like it's the nectar of the gods and I will crush his bones to powder. I will make him  _scream_ for mercy, and I shall never give it to him," Voldemort promised.

McGonagall faltered, staring, wide-eyed. He was  _lying_.

"No. You won't," she murmured as she walked backwards, raising her wand to put out the flames. "Soldiers, put out the flames! Save every living being! Any of the injured, we take back to camp."

Voldemort sneered as she waded deeper into the flames.

As she turned away, his words echoed after her. " _I WILL FIND HIM!_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter! I like this chapter. It was really, really fun to write. I made Voldemort a little more of a monster in this version. I'm not sorry. Narcissa is also more of a monster and far smarter than in the last incarnation. Anyway, there was some GoT stuff up in there. Hope you caught it. The obvious ones: 'Kill the boy...'. But, I put some more lowkey ones. It was fun to weave in.
> 
> Please leave kudos and review.


	9. Chapter Eight

Hermione's face was like stone. She ignored the weeping court in favor of watching the procession. Warden Andromeda and Princess Narcissa walked arm in arm, clothed in black. Andromeda looked severe in velvet and chainmail, not a hint of skin showing except her hands and her face. Narcissa's face was pink, eyes glistening with tears, leaning heavily on her sister. Hermione tried hard to focus as the Death Eaters paraded in, and the Aurors, lining the wall and drawing their swords and wands.

They raised their swords, creating an archway, and crossed their wands over their chests. Hermione's brow furrowed.

"My Lady?"

The whisper jolted Hermione out of her thoughts. She looked at Luna from the corner of her eye. The young blonde woman was staring at her with wide eyes. She had been trying to catch Hermione's attention for a few long minutes. She leaned forward, her lips brushing against Hermione's ear.

"You must pay attention. He will be entering soon."

Hermione nodded, absently. She looked at Narcissa. Narcissa's stare connected with her own and there was a flash of disdain and disgust in those icy blue depths. A second later, the look of loathing disappeared and Narcissa let out a quiet sniffle once more. She put on a mask of being strong and pasted a proud, strong smile on her face. She couldn't weep at her own son's first showing as Emperor.

"Presenting His Imperial Majesty, King Draco, of House Malfoy and Slytherin, Emperor of the Four Directions of the Albion Empire, and Lord of Hogwarts."

There was utter silence except for the rustling of skirts and robes as everyone fell into subservient bows and curtseys. Hermione stared up through her eyelashes as she fell into a curtsey of false reverence. The only other sound was the echo of leather hitting stone. The footsteps grew louder until only silence. Hermione's eyes widened when she saw the finely made leather boots. She looked up, slowly, and stared into his cruel, gray eyes.

He reached out, grabbing her by her chin, tilting her head up.

"You will only show reverence to me. Your king," the King barked.

Hermione nodded swiftly, sinking into an even lower curtsey until she was nearly on her knees.

"Your Grace…" she whispered and the King nodded at her.

He continued on, walking down the blood-stained white carpet, still red from the Fabian and Gideon Prewett. She wondered how many people's blood had been spilled in the name of 'justice'. She knew it was far too many.

Hermione looked back up and watched Draco's back as he ascended the stairs. He spun, his robes swinging dramatically and Hermione cringed at the expression on his face. She had seen it many, many times before, from men and women, most notably Lady Zabini. She had only seen it once directed at her. It seemed like years ago but, it had only been weeks.

Draco's face was twisted into a mask of greed. He had looked at her like that at the masque ball and in hindsight, Hermione knew that look and her answering smile had sealed her fate. She cursed Fleur for making her go. She hated Fleur as much as she loved and missed her. Fleur had been her friend, no matter how beautiful and she had been.

Draco's fingers dug into the armrests of the Gilded Throne. He reclined back, the grin of a child upon his face. Hermione looked away from the boy-king. He wore glistening jewels and robes lined with fur, fit for a king but, he was no king. Just a boy. A boy who had been placed upon the throne in hopes that he could rule better than his mad aunt. No, he was just as mad. He was a mad, selfish, little boy.

Narcissa's face was still in her mask of pride and grief. But, Hermione was not stupid. She could read the triumph in her eyes. It was the most expression that Hermione had seen from the woman in the entirety of her stay in Hogwarts Castle, barring the moment that Narcissa had screamed that her sister was dead. Hermione could still remember the expression of hurt, grief, fury, and madness as she sobbed over her sister's dead body.

But, now Narcissa was empty, made of impenetrable crystal. Hermione knew that she held no compassion for the country that her son would turn to ash.

Hermione turned away and she began to mourn the death of an empire that was not her own.

* * *

 

**MIRROR, MIRROR**

* * *

 

"Why do you...dress like that?"

Tonks looked up from her book and blinked in her surprise. Her surprise turned into confusion and Harry flushed in embarrassment. He gestured vaguely to the older woman's clothing before going back to practicing the Levitation Charm that McGonagall had assigned him. Tonks was there to supervise but, she was always more like a friend than a teacher.

Tonks looked down at her clothing. She wore a low cut green dress and her breasts were struggling to get free from the tight bodice. She was wearing her red cloak again and her hair was short and bright pink once more. Tonks looked back up and lifted her robe. She sniffed at it, wondering if the smell was the problem.

"Why do you dress like...like a working woman?"

Tonks hummed.

"Oh. That. Why do I dress like a whore, Harry?" Tonks clarified, amused. Harry turned a brighter red and turned away, mortified.

"You know what...never mind. Forget...forget I asked.

Tonks snickered. "Too late, Harry."

" _Wingardium Leviosa_ ," Harry said, flushing at her teasing. He focused on the levitating block of wood. Even as Tonks playfully shoved at him, he focused hard.

"Harry...I dress like a whore because I  _am_  a whore."

Harry looked up, sharply, his curiosity getting the better of him. The block of wood fell down to the table with a clatter. Tonks grinned at him now that she held his attention. She leaned forward, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. Harry leaned into her and wondered if this was what it was like to have an older sister.

"Why are you a whore?" Harry asked, still red.

"Harry, do you know how  _talkative_  nobles are when they're in the middle of an orgasm?" Tonks laughed and Harry clapped his hands to his face at Tonks' vulgar talk.

He felt like his face was going to burn off. The woman just burst into a fresh round of giggles and she pressed Harry's head against her ample bosom, uncaring that his face was squished into her breasts. Harry struggled against her and Tonks finally released him so that she could see his tomato-red face.

"You...you're okay with that? Sleeping with nobles to get information out of them?" Harry whispered. Tonks nodded, moving to sit on the table next to his block of wood, staring down at him.

"Why not? The Order needs the information and nobles will say anything for a quick fuck. Sexually repressed bastards that they are. And I'm not ashamed of my sexuality. I do everything on my own terms. The woman that raised me...was a powerful witch that controlled her sexuality so greatly that she controlled men," Tonks said so firmly that Harry couldn't doubt her. He leaned forward and she pulled his head into her lap, petting his hair gently. Harry relaxed, cushioning his head on folded arms.

"What made you join the Order?"

Tonks froze at the question, a glazed look entering her eyes. She looked as if she were in a different world. Harry was instantly aware that that was the wrong question to ask. He bit his teeth, worried that Tonks would leave him. He hated sitting alone. He knew that many of the Order thought that he was too...princely or young or green to speak to. The only blushed and stared or bowed or dismissed him entirely.

Tonks and Ginny, and even Ron were different. They looked at him like he was a person.

Only Remus didn't seem to even be able to look at him…

"They took away my family. The Slytherins."

Harry froze and he looked up at the woman. Her hair was no longer pink, but now a mousy brown. He hadn't even seen her pull her wand or use it. She looked smaller without the violent shade of pink. It transformed her entire face. Instead of looking like the pretty woman with a heart-shaped face that Harry knew, Tonks looked tired and older than her twenty-nine years.

"They...they took your family? Why?" Harry whispered.

Tonks frowned. "They killed my father because he was a  _Mudblood_. They took my mother because...because she was so much more than that. They took my mother and locked her away."

Harry shook his head and leaned forward, confused. Tonks' story was odd. Harry knew that Voldemort was a sadistic, destructive bastard, but she also knew that he  _never_  took prisoners. When he was younger, he had raided villages just for the spot of it, pillaging it and murdering people. So, Harry wondered what made Tonks' mother so special.

"Why? Why did they lock her away?"

Tonks' eyes flashed. "Because she  _loved_. And her brother...my  _uncle_ didn't like it," she hissed, sibilant and strange.

"And... _who_  was your uncle?"

Tonks stiffened under Harry's piercing gaze. Tonks slipped down from her perch onto the table back in her chair. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead to Harry's. She placed her own hand on Harry's neck and gave a sad smile. Harry almost jerked back, unsettled by the look on her face. Tonks was never sad.

Tonks was clumsy and vulgar and fun but, never... _sad._

"My uncle has many names. But, we called him the Dark Lord."

* * *

 

**ON THE WALL**

* * *

 

The Warden sat in her armchair, staring without seeing. She ignored her household bustling around her, attempting to straighten up her when there was nothing  _to_ straighten. Andromeda didn't sleep in her bed—she only claimed her rooms to cause  _Tom_ discomfort. Andromeda slept in a tent with her household or sat on her balcony and stared out onto the eternally summer orchards.

"Lady Warden...Lady Hermione Granger is here at your request."

Andromeda looked up at the odd little girl that followed Hermione like a shadow. She unsettled Andromeda, with her large pale eyes that reminded her of Helena and the feeling that she knew far more than she should. The girl stepped to the side and Andromeda looked at the future Queen Consort of Albion.

"Your Grace," Lady Granger said.

Andromeda frowned. The Lady Granger had the saddest brown eyes that Andromeda had ever seen, full of regret and longing. Andromeda could appreciate that and sympathize. She felt that same longing...a longing for freedom from the damn prison that her brother had locked her away in.

Andromeda gave a transparent smile. "Ah, Lady Hermione Granger. Come, come sit down."

The young woman was hesitant as she sat down in the chair across from Andromeda's. Hermione Granger looked over her shoulder and gave the young servant girl a translucent smile of her own. Andromeda knew what pain looked like.

"Luna, please bring us tea and scones with jam. I've heard the Warden likes boysenberry," Lady Granger said. Andromeda looked at her, impressed. She had done her research.

Andromeda turned her gaze out onto the orchards and looked past the beauty, into the Forbidden Forest. The Western Way was not far, and then the bridge across the Narrow Sea to Western Country. How Andromeda missed her home. She turned her eyes back onto the young Lady Granger.

"You treat your maid well."

Lady Granger smiled sadly.

"I was a maid. Once upon a time."

Andromeda frowned. "How so, Lady Granger?" she asked.

Hermione grimaced. "Please, your Grace, I've never been known as that title. Hermione will do, if it pleases you. Or at least, please consider my humble request."

Andromeda's frown deepened.

"You are of wealth and yet, you are not called your title. You treat your maid well as you were a maid, and yet, your stepmother is Lady Zabini. My shit of a nephew punches you in your face and you are in pain, and still you are defiant. You are a mess of contradictions, Hermione Granger," Andromeda said and Hermione winced. Andromeda's lips curled into a slow smile. "I like you."

Hermione gave a weak smile.

"My father was a Muggle merchant in the Gaul Republic. He became a wealthy trader over time, as he came across some magical goods from a foreign land. He traded with a prince, magical artifacts from a cave. Amulets and lamps. Even a flying carpet. He was known as the Master of Trade and held a position in the government. In the Republic, we used to allow all people to participate in government," Hermione said, ruefully.

Andromeda raised an eyebrow. "Used to?"

"Well...creatures are being treated as if they were second-class citizens. I wanted...before I was brought here, I wanted to change that. Follow in my father's footsteps," Hermione said. She looked far away. "But, that's neither here nor there. Now, my mother was a commoner. A Muggle. When I was four, she died of an illness. My father struggled with the grief. So, when he found love in Lady Zabini, when I was thirteen annuals, I couldn't have been happier than  _he_ could be happy."

Andromeda nodded. Her father had loved again and he had loved a witch. It was unheard of for a magical person to marry a lowly Muggle. Muggles married Muggles and Mudbloods married Mudbloods. That's what her father had said though, Andromeda had always thought her father was full of shit, anyway.

"So...he married Lady Zabini," Andromeda murmured. Hermione nodded in confirmation.

"Yes. He married the Lady Zabini and she brought with her a son. At first, they were kind to me. Wonderful, even. I grew to love my stepfamily. But...one day...my father passed away, unexpectedly. One night, he simply didn't wake up and everything changed. From that day on, I was their slave and I no longer loved them," Hermione whispered, her voice cracking with the grief that she had painstakingly hidden so well.

Andromeda stared at the young woman, an apathetic mask on her face. Hermione did not seem to mind that Andromeda was not offering her sympathies or condolences. She didn't seem to notice when Luna returned with tea and scones. She didn't seem to notice when Andromeda waved her wand, pouring tea for them both. Hermione simply stared out over the orchards, a contemplative look on her face.

"The abuse continued for years. I almost had to suffer it alone but there...there was this one girl. This beautiful girl who wanted to help me all the time. She made my stepmother's dresses. Her name was Fleur. She knew I worked hard so she made me have fun with her even when all I wanted to do was read. When Fleur received an invitation from a customer to the masque ball hosted in Prince Draco's honor, Fleur forced me to go even though I was expressly forbidden from going. And then...I was forced to come here," Hermione finished and she burned with hatred, her chocolate brown eyes darkening until they were nearly black.

"My nephew is really a cunt, isn't he?" Andromeda barked. Hermione gaped, letting out a choked laugh. Andromeda didn't laugh. "He's keeping you a prisoner.

Hermione looked at her, eyes flinty. "You're a prisoner here, as well...aren't you?"

Andromeda's eyes widened and she looked at Hermione, scrutiny in her eyes. Hermione squirmed under her gaze. She hummed but did not answer. She simply waved her hand at the tea spread in front of them.

"Your tea is cold, my dear. Drink it up."

Hermione took a sip of the tea and grimaced. It was cold and bitter. It was nothing like the tea from home. Tea from home was earthy and rich.

"I'd prefer not to, your Grace," Hermione said definitively.

Andromeda gave a laugh that sounded brittle and entirely too sad to be real.

"Not to your tastes, then?"

"Not at all."

Andromeda's face smoothed into satisfaction and she focused on Colette. She looked around and nodded to herself when she only saw maids from her own household except for Luna. Her maids were trustworthy. Andromeda pursed her lips and looked at Hermione.

"Is your maid trustworthy?"

Hermione blinked.

"I would trust her with my life," she said, immediately. Luna beamed. "Why would you ask such a thing?"

Andromeda ignored the question and relaxed in her seat, cracking her neck. She pushed aside the grief, exchanging it for hard eyes.

"You're headstrong, smart, and pretty."

Hermione looked stunned and she smiled, flattered. "Thank you."

Andromeda's eyes narrowed.

"That makes you a threat."

Hermione's expression flickered from flattered to suspicious. She leaned forward, drinking her bitter cold tea, eyes narrowed dangerously.

"I'm sorry?"

"Narcissa views you as a threat."

Hermione leaned back, surprised again. "Narcissa?"

Andromeda gave a cold, hard laugh, full of rage. Hermione was suddenly struck by the fact that this was a very angry woman that had been cultivating her rage for decades. This was a woman that called for vengeance.

"You will be Queen one day, and the people—the Muggles, the lower witches, and wizards, the creatures. They will like you. You're likable. The King is not. Don't think that that stupid, power-hungry little boy simply came upon that throne by accident. Bellatrix waited for that throne for  _decades_  before she got it. She would not let it go so easily. Narcissa murdered my sister for that throne," Andromeda snarled and Hermione gasped, shaking her head in disbelief.

So, Andromeda believed it too.

"Do you really think she's capable of such a thing as  _kinslaying_?" Hermione demanded. She needed to hear it. She needed to be  _sure_.

"I know my family. We're  _all_ capable of kinslaying," Andromeda bit out. "Narcissa is vindictive with a heart of stain. She cares only for her son and the approval of our brother."

The word 'brother' was ridden with derision and loss.

"Why your brother?"

"Why not?" Andromeda retorted.

Hermione's upper lip curled into a sneer. "He's a vile human being. And he's mad."

"Shut up," Andromeda barked. Hermione jumped and the Warden's expression softened. "My brother is complicated. He is a genius. He's also cruel and vindictive. Evil, even. But don't ever mistake those characteristics for being  _mad_. My brother is  _anything_  but insane."

Hermione hummed in contemplation.

"You hate your brother. I know you do. I see the way you look at him," Hermione said, softly.

Andromeda smiled, grimly.

"Aye, I do. But, he is still my brother," Andromeda said. She looked out to the forest and took a sip of her teeth, grimacing. It was cold. Carefully, she lifted her wand, waving it and casting a Warming Charm on the pot and the two teacups. "Narcissa. Since we were young, all she spoke of was our brother. It was different from Bellatrix's fascination with him. He was Bellatrix's center, her sanity. And she lusted for him. Loved him like a woman loves someone.

Hermione winced. "W-what?"

Andromeda nodded, lips pursed. "Yes. But, Narcissa didn't want him to love her as Bellatrix did. She wanted to be him. She always tried to get his attention. And she had it, for a while. And then Helena died and he disregarded her. He favored Bellatrix in spite of her madness."

Hermione bit her lip, caught between pity for Bellatrix's lost sanity and confusion about the inter-family politics that she was being forced to marry into.

"Why? Did he lust for her too?"

Andromeda laughed, loudly. This was a different laugh. She genuinely found Hermione's question  _funny_.

"No. Bellatrix's happiness, her sanity, meant something to my brother. Putting her upon the throne was a way to keep her sane, to keep her from slowly destroying herself, to control her. It gave a face to the destruction that my brother wrought, and it kept her safe and bound to the family. And we  _are_ a family. A family of blood. And blood is everything."

Hermione frowned.

"I've never…"

"You wouldn't have," Andromeda said, grimly. "My mother and father believed in the old gods. The same ones as the Tabooed believed in, so they never spoke a word. But, the gods are gods of blood. Blood is sacred and family is everything to a Slytherin.  _That_  is where Narcissa has made her fatal mistake. Kinslaying is the ultimate betrayal. And to my brother...blood is all."

* * *

 

**WHOM**

* * *

 

Hermione's head was still spinning from her conversation with Andromeda the night before. This family was full of secrets and kinslayers, users of the Darkest Arts. Hermione was in danger and she didn't even have her wand to defend herself. All she had were her wits, and that would have to be enough to get her through this ordeal. She stepped back as the court dipped their heads at her, brushing against the golden skirts that fanned out from her waist. She ignored their curtseys and their simpering and their coaxing; she saw the envy in their eyes.

They wouldn't envy her if they saw the bruises on her neck. Draco had caught her outside of her rooms, walking back from Andromeda. She could still feel his fingers wrapped around her neck.

She lifted her chin in defiance, hoping that there was a hint of purple left after Luna had healed her as best she could with the bruise removal paste.

"My Lady?" Luna whispered. Hermione nodded at Luna and Luna crept forward, reluctant. "My Lady...the green-eyed man is staring at you."

Hermione whipped her head so fast that she felt her neck crack and she froze. She squirmed, like a trapped mouse. She had nearly forgotten that wicked smile. He was still tall and handsome, with dark skin, high cheekbones, and almond-shaped eyes. Hermione swallowed and swiftly composed herself. She was at court.

"My stepbrother," Hermione said, as calmly as she could.

The Lady Granger turned her gaze onto the green-eyed man. He stared back. Blaise Zabini seemed to have taken it as an invitation and he sauntered over to her, uncaring that everyone stared as he approached the future Queen Consort.

"Hermione, darling sister," Blaise cooed, wrapping an arm around Hermione's waist. He jerked her forward, pressing two kisses to her cheeks. Hermione jerked back.

"Brother," Hermione said flatly.

Blaise pulled away and rewarded her with a wide smile. He reveled in the whispers. He clapped his hands together and grinned. His eyes were still so very cruel. Hermione closed her own eyes, resisting the urge to sigh in exasperation and annoyance. She was so  _tired_  of men's shit.

"I have  _missed_  you. Have you sent word to Mother?" Blaise asked.

"I had no idea that your mother wanted to say  _anything_ to me," Hermione murmured. When she tried to turn away from her stepbrother, he grabbed her hand and squeezed.

It was a warning. That had always been his warning.  _Be still_. Hermione looked up at Draco on the throne but, he was smiling warmly at Blaise. He had warmed to her stepbrother at the masque ball and Hermione knew they had been exchanging letters since she had arrived. So, Blaise was the king's favorite. How  _wonderful_.

" _Our_  mother is worried about you. You should write her. I know she'd like to hear about wedding plans."

The agenda at hand. Hermione restrained her knowing smile. She nodded and slowly stepped away from Blaise. Blaise had not given a damn about Albion until Draco had chosen her. And now Draco was a king and an emperor. The Zabinis were social-climbers at best.

The minute she married Draco, she would be 'of age'. Her father's fortune would belong to the Empire and Draco seemed the type to reward loyalty in gold.

"I will do just that," Hermione said, flatly. Blaise nodded.

"As you should. Now, if there's anything you need for comfort, ask. The King has chosen to confide in me and I find that we have become fast friends through letters. Now, that I'm here, I shall be able to help you more," Blaise said, false smiles.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "My wand?"

"Things within reason, my dear  _sister_ ," Blaise said. So condescending. Hermione ground her teeth together. "Now, I must go settle into my rooms. The King and I have much to do afterward. Enjoy your fineries and food, sister."

He sauntered away. Hermione's fingers clenched into fists, crescent nails digging into her palms and drawing blood. She ignored the sluggish blood welling from the self-inflicted wounds and wiped it on the skirts of her dress. She turned towards the King and approached, falling into reverence.

"Your Grace, please grant me leave. I have found myself tired and ill," Hermione whispered.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Women's dispositions are so weak. Go, then."

Hermione rose and looked over at Narcissa, standing at her son's side. Her eyes were cold. Hermione turned her back on the pair of them, beckoning sharply to Luna. Luna followed her. Hermione walked along the Great Hall, ignoring the way the lords and ladies of the court stared at her. Their gazes condemned her, made her feel filthy.

"Please, draw me a bath," Hermione whispered.

"Of course, my Lady."

In silence, they ascended the grand, shifting staircases. When Hermione had first arrived, she had been fascinated and bewildered by the staircases. She had wanted to find the library and read about them. Draco had quickly realized how much she liked to read and had restricted that. He thought a lady, a queen, should look pretty and be silent and know nothing. It was so strange; his mother was probably one of the smartest people that Hermione had ever encountered and Draco had such an archaic way of thinking.

They entered Hermione's rooms. Hermione shivered. The sitting area was cold and stately, and led into her bedroom. The room was large, with a soft bed, and blankets but, the floors were stone. It was elegant but, Hermione missed her old room of softwood and a lumpy, straw stuffed mattress. This was not her home.

Hermione followed Luna into the bathing room. Luna pulled her wand.

"Can...can I do it?" Hermione begged.

Luna smiled. "Always, my Lady," she said, offering her wand to Hermione.

It was beautifully made from a warm wood. It was long and the end was an unbloomed tulip. It didn't feel right, not like Hermione's wand. It was shorter than hers and it wasn't light, like vinewood wand. Even the core felt a little different. So, probably not dragon heartstring. But, still, she felt her magic vibrate and rejoice.

" _Aguamenti_ ," she said and Hermione gasped in delight as an enormous gush of water spouted from the wand into the porcelain tub. It was like a geyser, never ending and Hermione giggled as she felt her magic stir. She wiggled the wand, complicated, and the water began to steam.

"You can do non-verbal magic," Luna said in wonder.

Hermione looked up with a smile. Hermione nodded, reaching for oils and soaps to pour into the hot bath. When she stood, Luna began to unlace the tight stays on her dress, letting it spill to the ground, and finally, Hermione could  _breathe_ again.

"At home, I was in charge of the cooking, cleaning, gardening. Nearly everything. Learning magic, especially nonverbal magic, became a necessity," Hermione said. She relished in doing something for herself. The callouses on her hands were wearing away. She looked in the mirror and didn't recognize herself. It hurts. "I miss home."

Luna continued to pull and jerk at the corset, pulling it off of Hermione's body.

"I miss my home as well, my Lady," Luna said.

Hermione grimaced. "Please, Luna. It's Hermione. I've never been a Lady. I'm  _not_ a Lady."

"Sorry...Hermione."

Hermione stared into Luna's owlishly pale eyes. There was so much wisdom there. Luna's lips twitching into a smile.

"Where did you live?" Hermione asked.

"In the City-States," Luna said. She ignored Hermione's surprise, helping the Lady into the bath. "Before they were Free, when they were just free, and run by their magical congress. I lived on the largest island. With my mother and father. My family had been there for generations, you must understand. My mother did not take kindly to outsiders from Alfheim and refugees from Albion coming to take over and establish a monarchy. Fleeing from the Tabooed to come here. Colonists, she called them," Luna said, softly.

Hermione leaned forward, intrigued. "Your mother…"

"My mother was a powerful leader with a bloodline that is over a thousand years. We were tied to things of fire. We worshipped them. We served them. We believed in the same gods as the centaurs and the goblins and the nymphs and the sylphs and the Veelas," Luna explained as she sat on the stool next to the tub, lifting her wand. She whispered. " _Augamenti_."

Hermione winced as the frigid water hit her scalp and the back of her neck, soaking her.

"Your mother wasn't human," Hermione said.

Luna's eyes flashed. "No. She was a descendant of the Fae. Fire called to her."

"Like the Dtrwies," Hermione murmured. "My friends...from home. They are Veela. They worship the Dtrwies goddesses. Maiden for water. Mother for fire. Crone for earth. And Death is like the air, whistling in your ear but you cannot see."

"Aye like the Dtrwies," Luna agreed. "My mother did not take well to witches and wizards coming in and taking over. And so, she put them to sleep for 100 years."

"100 years?" Hermione whispered. "But, you aren't…"

"No. This happened before I was born," Luna said, gently as she began to scrub soaps and oils into Hermione's hair, cleaning it of the day's strife. "Now, my mother wandered the islands with her people as the Tabooed reigned here in Albion and one day, she came upon a sleeping man that she thought was beautiful. My father. He woke her. They had me, and he convinced her that the people had learned their lessons and it was time for them to walk again. When she woke them, they rebelled immediately and took my family. They killed my mother and father and were going to burn me at the stake. This was just after Princess Lily had been slain."

Hermione knew how the story ended.

"The Dark Lord saved you."

"Aye," Luna said. "He had heard that the people had been raised again, and he had come to begin trade. To establish alliances before they learned what terrible things he had done. He saw me tied to a stake and he saved me from being burned. My mother was of the Fae but, I am far too removed."

"Why?" Hermione whispered. "Why did he save you?"

She sputtered when Luna dumped water over her head, the suds sliding down in the hot bathwater.

Luna was staring, far away. "He said...he said that he knew my mother and respected her greatly. That she had shown him great things. I do not doubt it. My mother loved me and I loved her but, she did great and terrible things. She battled on behalf of the Tabooed, you know. She fought alongside Morgin against Queen Helga for Afallon. They say Morgin rode winged lizards.  _Dragons_."

Hermione's eyes widened and she leaned forward.

"Dragons are extinct," she protested.

Luna smiled and nodded. "Aye. The Founders had them slain after the devastation Morgin rained on her people."

"Is Afallon the West? Queen Helga ruled over the West, right?" Hermione asked. She would find out more about this country. She had read, countless things, but never about Albion, and now, she didn't have books to arm herself with. Just cleverness and wit and a very knowledgeable maid.

"Yes. Queen Helga was one of the former Queens. There were two kings and two queens. They were the closest of friends and they reunited the countries into the Albion Empire after the long struggle between Morgin, Ambrose, Medraut, and Orcate," Luna said. She pulled Hermione's hair back and began to pull a large comb through it. "Merlin once ruled over all of them but, the Tabooed squandered it."

Hermione tilted her head, grunting as Luna came across a particularly hard knot. Hermione hated not knowing things. When someone knew that she was unaware, they used their knowledge over her to make her feel inferior. She was so tired of being made to feel inferior.

"And Queen Helga ruled the West."

Luna nodded, sagely. "Queen Helga of House Hufflepuff ruled the West," she confirmed. "They called her the Mother because she had no children but, fostered the entirety of the empire. Have you finished washing your body?"

Hermione nodded and stood from her bath. Hermione was not ashamed of her body. She was unashamed of her scars and the gauntness of her face and the way her skin stretched tight over her bones. One could count every single rib if they wanted to. But, she was proud. She was a survivor. Luna Summoned her dressing gown and held it open for her. Hermione tied it shut.

"What of the others?" Hermione asked as she walked back into her bedroom and sat down at her vanity. Luna settled behind her and began to comb again.

"There was Queen Rowena of House Ravenclaw. She ruled over Essetir. The East. She was known for her wit and strategic genius. She had a child. Her name was Helena and was said to be beautiful. More beautiful than the Dark Lord and Bellatrix. She was blind. She was sweet, gentle, and kind. Then...on the day of her fifteen annual, she disappeared. They found her blood spilled upon the snow and her corpse in a shallow grave. Her heart had been ripped from her chest," Luna said, voice so calm.

Hermione's eyes widened in horror and she wondered who could have done something to a  _blind_ girl. She knew who. Princess Lily had died the same way. The thought made bile rise in her throat. She would have to live with a man that had done such horrible things. She'd rather spit at him than look upon his face, and she knew that was a one-way ticket to the Cruciatus Curse. It was a foolish thought.

"Then?" Hermione asked. She knew what was next.

She had always been more interested in creatures' rights, reading essays and legislation about it in the Republic. She had wanted to make a difference. Fleur's little sister, Gabrielle, was far more interested in Albion culture and history and fashion and had voraciously consumed any books Hermione could find for her. Hermione could remember all the times Gabrielle Delacour had regaled Hermione and Fleur with dramatized versions of Albion history.

"Then, there was the King Godric of House Gryffindor. He ruled over the South, Karnaron. He was brave and true, and one of the best swordsmen the world had ever seen. But, he was brash. He had Lily. You know that story," Luna said, her expression grim. Hermione looked down at her lap.

She had read all about Princess Lily and Mortem Phoenix. Everyone had.

"I do," Hermione said, solemnly as Luna weaved her hair into a wet braid, taming her mess of curls.

"Then, the King of the North. King Salazar of House Slytherin. He had four children. Bellatrix and her twin, Tom Marvolo. Andromeda. And Narcissa. And they were all beautiful. But, the twins were vain. Selfish. My mother showed them darkness, and they embraced it. And their darkness led to this civil war that we are trapped in. Led to the deaths of many."

Hermione's gaze hardened as she looked up at her maid.

"Andromeda said that Narcissa killed Bellatrix. For her brother's favor."

"I have no doubt that she did," Luna said, uncharacteristically cold. She turned from Hermione's finished braid and walked towards the window, staring out at the beautiful orchards. Hermione joined her, leaning into her side.

"You knew?" Hermione asked.

"The nargles told me their suspicions. But, now I know for sure. No one knows Narcissa like her own family. No one knows the Slytherins like the Slytherins," Luna said, simply and Hermione winced against Luna's mention of the imaginary creatures.

"What should I do, Luna?" Hermione whispered. Luna looked over at her with a slight smile.

"Send the Dark Lord a letter telling him of what you learned," Luna suggested.

Hermione looked at her friend, appalled that Luna had even  _recommended_ such a thing.

"And why would I do that? I hold no love for that man and the messenger is  _always_ the one murdered," Hermione spat. "He knows what his nephew does to me. He allowed the people of this empire to live through a terrible war, to suffer deaths. He's killed some of them himself. They host public executions every year to instill fear in their terrified subjects!"

Luna gave a giggle and shook her head as if Hermione was the one being foolish. Hermione felt a flash of fury and she crossed her arms, snarling. Luna sobered.

"The Dark Lord isn't a good man. But, I owe him a life debt. He saved me from being burned in the City-States and gave me a place here. He said that he would not watch a child be punished for the mistakes of their parents. He doesn't kill children, you know. Not Muggle children. Not Muggleborns. Not half-bloods. Not purebloods. He's not a good man, you're right. But, with this one thing, I trust him. The Slytherins always protect their own...even from each other."

* * *

 

**IS FAIREST**

* * *

 

"We rest here."

Immediately, Severus jerked his horse to a stop and dismounted, his thighs sorer than they had been in literal years. He looked around the small clearing with approval. His Lord had found the perfect spot. The clearing was nice, with an existing fire pit. It must have been an old centaur ground, long deserted from the looks of how overgrown the grass was and the state of the fire pit.

"Yes, my Lord," Lucius murmured as he dismounted. He immediately raised his wand, assembling his own tent.

Severus pursed his lips. He usually argued about how unnecessary they were until their Lord relented. He had not tried this time. His Lord was riled up about the Fairest. Severus wondered briefly what it was about the beautiful boy that made the Dark Lord want to kill her so much. The boy was only a pretty face, like his mother. Though, Severus saw things of his father in him-the messy black hair. Merlin forbid that he inherited anything else from the insufferable James Potter.

"What is it that clutters your mind, Severus?"

Severus looked up from his well-constructed tent and turned the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord looked up at him from where he sat, cross-legged in the grass. He looked calm and it put Severus ill at ease.

"The Fairest."

The Dark Lord's eyes flashed.

"What of him?" the Dark Lord asked, his voice steely. Severus sat down in front of his own tent, closest to the fire pit. He glanced over at Lucius who was tying the horses up.

Severus lifted his wand. " _Incendio_." A merry fire burst in the fire pit, immediately radiating with heat. "I was thinking upon why you wish him dead."

Voldemort hummed. "My reasons are my own."

"Of course, my Lord," Severus said immediately. He wouldn't question his Lord.

Severus didn't need to. Voldemort would tell him eventually. It was a rare event that he ever kept secrets from Severus. Severus was the Lord of Whispers. He knew everything.

Lucius finished tying the horses and pitching his tent. He walked over to them and sat cross-legged, forming a triangle around the fire. It was a comfortable silence and Lucius felt honored that his Lord felt so at ease around him. It felt like they were on a normal hunt as opposed to an assassination.

Lucius sighed. He had taken part in one of the most important events in history, and not only because he was Narcissa's lord-husband or a Death Eater. It was because the Lord Voldemort had found him competent. The blond sighed as he thought about his wife, and then his thoughts turned to Bellatrix. He remembered the night of the coronation very well.

The Founders had been slaughtered, the white carpet stained with red. Sirius Black had been tortured on that carpet and locked away to go mad in Azkaban. Lucius winced. To go through the trauma of the Cruciatus and then locked away in Azkaban to suffer at the hands of dementors. It was a fate he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy. Mercy would've been if Sirius had died.

Queen Bellatrix the Beautiful had been crowned that night. The court called her the Mad Queen behind her back.

"My Lord, why did you seat Bellatrix upon the throne?" Lucius asked, suddenly. He boldly met the Dark Lord's crimson eyes. The Dark Lord gave him a mocking smile.

"What summons these sentimental memories to mind, Lucius?" Voldemort hissed, sounding very much like the snake he was and Severus briefly wondered where Nagini was.

"I'm not sure, my Lord. I have thought on this before, but I have now decided to ask," Lucius said, blasé in the way he spoke though careful not to offend.

"I see."

Severus leaned forward. "My Lord, may I speak freely?"

The Dark Lord tilted his head slowly. His face betrayed none of his emotions and it rarely did. The man's outburst at the coronation had been his first one in many, many years.

"You may," Voldemort finally said.

Severus elected to be blunt. "Your sister is not fit to rule Albion."

"I am aware," Voldemort drawled, amused.

Severus and Lucius exchanged looks of confusion.

"Then, why do you not rule, my Lord? You would be ten times the ruler Bellatrix could ever be. She is not...she is..." Lucius said, struggling with the words to describe the woman. He swallowed. "They call her the Mad Queen."

Voldemort smiled. "My sister...Bellatrix...is a fool. Blinded by delusions of grandeur. Her perception of this empire is of a child. She throws tantrums to receive what she wants and people give it to her. It is not  _I_ who gives her power, but the people who bend the knee to her, and obey her will."

Severus stared in disbelief. He pulled his hand across his face, as if to wipe away his flickering emotions. The Dark Lord had pride in the fact that the Death Eaters could so easily control their emotions. In the presence of the Dark Lord, it was always harder to obey that particular aspect of their training.

"Then,  _why_ , my Lord? Why put the empire in the hands of a  _child_?" Lucius asked, nearly desperate.

The Dark Lord did not look either in the eye, in favor of staring out in the dark wood with a pensive expression. He laced his fingers together, one elbow on each knee and he leaned his chin upon his hands. They listened to the cracking of the fire and the noises of the night, waiting.

"My Lord?" Severus whispered.

Voldemort sighed. He turned a grim gaze upon his two most loyal. They were staring at him, like the children they were.

"Severus...Lucius. My sister holds no real power. She is a puppet and I am her master. I have always taken care of the important things. Since her assumption, we have not raided under my command. The court is satisfied. Our coffers are full. If Bellatrix wants to isolate creatures and Muggles and Mudbloods, fine. We are better anyway, and I am not focused on the now. My sister's madness is my responsibility and I hunt the Fairest to sate it. I have long kept this empire from crumbling under her reign. And I will continue to keep this empire together. Forever, we shall endure."

* * *

 

**OF THEM**

* * *

 

Harry let out a heavy sigh, wiping at the sweat on his forehead. For a November afternoon, the sun beat hard. His leather trousers chafed his thighs and his tunic was soaked through. Ron was gasping himself, and he had far more endurance as a soldier than Harry did.

"You still want to go again?" Ron choked out, bent over, hands on his knees.

Harry nodded, pulling his tunic over his head. "Yeah," he said, lifting his sword again.

The flush of exertion went down from his cheeks, down his neck, to the top of his nipples. Ron's gaze chased it, his jaw unhinging. Harry ground his teeth and cleared his throat. Ron flushed and looked up at Harry, attempting to focus.

"Uh…" Ron started.

"Again," Harry snarled, moving forward and thrusting. Ron weakly lifted his sword, attempting to block but, Harry easily disarmed him. Harry pressed his sword against Ron's neck and tossed Ron's sword to the side. "Ron, what the  _fuck_?"

"I'm sorry...I'm just…" Ron trailed off, his brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't even like guys."

Harry snarled in rage, tossing his sword down, pulling his soaked tunic over his head, and storming away. He ignored Ron calling after him and he ignored how he might be being a little childish. As he banged into the Burrow II, he realized that he had gone up the stairs and bypassed his room entirely. He leaned against the door and knocked.

"Tonks? Are you there?" he asked, desperately.

There was a beat of silence before there was a loud thump and someone cursed, loudly. Harry grinned.  _Tonks_. Then, there was the giggle of a child and the door slowly creaked open. Harry peeked inside, curiously, and almost pulled his knife when he felt a hand wrap around his ankle. He looked down at Tonks, pink hair falling into her face, tangled in her own cloak.

"Uh, hello there," Harry said in between snickers.

Tonks glared up at him and she pushed the door open more, using the door and Harry's body to pull herself to her feet. She gave Harry another glare of contempt before turning a baleful gaze to the object on the floor. Harry winced at the gruesome sight.

"Is that...is that a  _leg_? With cloaks hanging from it?" Harry demanded, choking over his words.

A light but deeper laugh sounded through the room. "It's a troll leg."

Harry looked up sharply at the older man on Tonks' bed, a young toddler that looked about three in his lap. The toddler had the oddest hair Harry had ever seen and he was friends with  _Tonks_. The little boy had bright turquoise eyes and sweet eyes. His face was heart shaped, like Tonks, and his eyes were amber like Remus'. Harry's eyes widened.

"Mr. Lupin? Tonks? Is this your son?" Harry whispered.

Tonks winced, shaking her head. She didn't answer immediately. She moved towards the bed and bent over to kiss the little boy's forehead. She pulled him into her arms and he giggled, grinning up at her. She walked back towards Harry and the little boy stared at him, shy but curious.

"Harry, this is Teddy. Teddy...this is Harry."

Teddy leaned forward, his face screwed up. "Hawwy? Pwince Hawwy?"

Harry's lips twitched and he nodded. He held his hand out to Teddy and the little boy grabbed it with his chubby little hand.

"Yes, I'm Prince Harry. Nice to meet you."

Teddy grinned. "I is Teddy."

"I  _am_ Teddy," Tonks corrected as she slid the toddler into Harry's arms. Harry stared down at Teddy like he was a bomb and Tonks laughed.

"I'll take him, if you wish, your Highness."

Harry looked over at Remus. The man was refusing to make eye contact with him. Harry sighed, moving towards the man who had been such good friends with his father and mother. Harry placed the toddler in Remus' lap. As soon as Teddy was free of him, the little one attempted to climb onto Remus' head. Harry laughed.

"Who is this child?" Harry asked.

Tonks turned and leaned, casually, against her wardrobe. She gave Teddy a fond smile. She sighed.

"Teddy. I found him after a raid when he was just a baby. He was abandoned...alone...and he was like me," Tonks said. Harry frowned.

"Like you?"

"Tonks is a Metamorphmagus," Remus supplied.

Harry looked between the two of them, bewildered. "A  _what_?"

Tonks laughed. "I forget that you weren't raised like us. A Metamorphmagus is a witch or wizard that can change their outward appearance at will. Did you think my hair was naturally pink?"

Harry bit his lip, slightly embarrassed by it all. Tonks laughed and rolled her eyes as she adjusted her red cloak. She crossed over to Remus, wrapping her arms around him and Teddy. Remus stiffened within her embrace. Harry raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

"Thank you, Remus. I'll take Teddy now. Teddy, do you want to go for a walk in the camp and say hello? Do you want to see Hagrid and Charlie and the thestrals?" Tonks asked.

"Yes, yes, Dowa," Teddy laughed.

The two went, leaving Harry and Remus alone. Remus' eyes followed Tonks out the door before he looked to Harry. Remus began to stand when Harry shut the door, sharply. Remus looked at him, caught off guard.

"Mr. Lupin, you've been avoiding me and I don't know why," Harry said, flatly.

Remus looked away, embarrassed to be caught in his efforts to avoid the crown prince. Harry hummed.

"I have not, your Highness," Remus mumbled. Harry nearly smiled.

The man was an  _awful_  liar.

"Stop," Harry snapped, his eyes flashing.

"What?" Remus asked, softly.

Harry's hands clenched into fists before he relaxed slowly, his hands falling to his sides uselessly. Remus looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Harry wasn't sure if that man was being condescending or not.

"Don't call me your Highness. I want to know why you're avoiding me. I haven't done  _anything_  to you, Mr. Lupin, and you look at me as if I were a leper...a  _freak_ , instead of the boy who you  _begged_ to save you," Harry said, his voice trembling.

Remus looked at him how the Dursleys looked at him. Freak. Monster.

Harry was shaking. This man had been a best friend to his parents and it felt like his own parents were rejecting him. Or at least, his last personal connection to them. And it hurt.

"Yes, then. I'm avoiding you," Remus admitted, shamefaced.

" _Why_? Don't you...I have so much to ask you. I want to know about my parents. You're the only one that really knew them. I want to know what they like, what they disliked. What did my father's laugh sound like? What was my mother's favorite spell?" Harry listed and he shook more and more as the thoughts overwhelmed him. "I just... _why_?"

Remus took a step towards Harry and he brushed a black curl from the younger man's face. He had a sorrowful look. He looked much, much older than his actual age. The man was a man that had gone to war, thrice times over, had dragged himself through hell. Harry nearly regretted his question.

Remus sighed. "Because...you remind me of everything that I've loved and lost."

* * *

 

**ALL?**

* * *

 

"Order meeting!" Ginny shouted as she raced through the camp, banging through to the Burrow.

Ron looked up from his duel with Harry and took a step back, shrugging. Harry looked around as Alastor Moody lumbered into the Burrow II, moving hard on his staff. Ron dropped his sword, sheathing it swiftly, and walked away. Harry followed after him, on his heels, and Ron grinned at him, throwing his arm around his shoulders.

"First Order meeting," Ron teased. Harry laughed, sheathing his own sword, and nodded as they walked up the stairs to the meeting room.

Harry peeked inside and saw Tonks' bright hair and the Weasley siblings, all clustered at the table together. Ron slipped inside and suddenly, Harry's view was blocked.

"Where do you think you're going, boy?"

Harry flushed as Mad-Eye Moody stared at me with that one bulging magical blue eye, twisting and turning to look everywhere. Harry swallowed hard.

"The...Order meeting," Harry said, slowly.

"You're not  _in_ the Order," Moody said, firmly. "You've only just started using magic and the Order is for trained witches and wizards of the resistance."

Harry balked. "And you want me to lead the resistance."

"You're just a boy, still practicing the spells of an eleven-year-old," Moody retorted and Harry winced, flushing in embarrassment.

He looked over Moody's shoulder. Ron wasn't looking at him. Tonks was whispering harshly to McGonagall but, the woman was watching Harry and Moody with firm eyes. McKinnon and Vance looked smug, whispering to each other. Remus hadn't looked at him at all. Harry looked back at Moody's gnarled, scarred face and crossed his arms over his chest, holding himself together. His wand burned in its wand holster.

"If you taught me more, then I'd be able to help. I should be in there," Harry spat.

Moody grimaced and shook his head. "No. Go practice your charms. You can come back for supper in an hour or two," Moody said, condescendingly, backing into the room and shutting the door in Harry's face.

Harry's eyes and face burned and he wiped away at his eyes, willing himself not to cry. He turned his back and stormed away to his room, grabbing his cloak and whipping it around his shoulders. Harry moved towards the door and stopped, moving back to his bed and looping the ceremonial knife into his belt, alongside his sword. Harry pulled his hood up and flew down the stairs, barely closing the door behind him.

"Prince Harry, where ye off to?"

Harry looked over his shoulder and smiled weakly at Hagrid. He waved at him, trying to swallow his tears and humiliation. "I-it's just Harry. I-I'm just taking a walk around camp."

Hagrid beamed and nodded. "Yer full of good ideas, Harry. Just make sure not to get too close the wards."

Harry nodded and bent his head over, practically running through the camp, dodging the men and women carrying the day's hunt, the girls, and boys doing laundry or hefting hay or playing with wooden swords that would one day be steel. Harry moved towards the edge of wards, wishing nothing more than to disappear. The Order's stares burned at the edges of his brain.

Only Tonks had tried to fight for him.

Harry walked through the wards. He could feel them cling to him. They tried to pull him back but, he pushed past them, his body burning. The fire burned the sticky tendrils of the magic away from his body. As he passed through the heavy wards and protective charms and the Fidelius Charm, a sharp wind bit as his skin, bringing red to his cheeks and tip of his nose.

It was mid-November now but, the days had blurred together. He had been at the camp for at least two weeks if not more. He couldn't be sure between training or studying or speaking with Tonks. Tonks. His only defender.

She was the best company at the camp, barring Ginny and Ron. Ginny was a sweet girl, if quiet, and she was fierce. Probably more so on the battlefield. She could shoot an arrow without the slightest of hesitation. Ron boasted that she was the best markswoman in Albion. Harry could believe it.

And Ron...Ron was a piece of work, really. He seemed to always think with his cock and his ax. Ginny usually got on him for treating Harry like he was weak and it was less frequent than it had been before. But, sometimes, he slipped and Harry would kick his ass. Then, Ron's competitive streak came out and he fought back, making Harry train harder. But, he had looked away when Moody had humiliated him.

Harry slipped between the trees, looking up at the red and orange leaves that barely hung on. The colors were bright and rich like his fire. He smiled, spinning around and relishing in the cool air. This was nothing like Little Whinging, which was cold and wet on the best of days. In the South, it was cold but, everything was bright and vibrant. Everything felt  _alive_.

Harry slipped between a gathering of trees and grinned at the clearing. It looked like his little clearing from home. He stooped over, grabbing a fistful of leaves and closed his eyes, throwing it in the air. He tilted his head back, letting the leaves fall over his face, ignoring how his hood slipped off his head. Then, the rustle of leaves. A snap of wood.

Harry stiffened and spun around. Green eyes narrowed, he searched, but he was faced with nothing but trees, tall and looming.

Harry relaxed ever so much when two hands seized him by his shoulders and spun him around. Harry gasped as he was slammed into a tree. The Prince stared up into crimson eyes and swallowed. Those red eyes were dark with lust, lips pulled into a smile.

"Hello, sweetling."

There wasn't anything arrogant in the way Voldemort held himself now. He wasn't there to flirt or to be made a fool of again. Harry's lips turned into a slow grim smile and he closed his eyes. He felt Voldemort moved so that one muscled forearm held Harry pinned to the tree by his neck. Gentle fingers brushed across Harry's eyelids, and Harry opened his eyes, revealing bright green. Green like the summer.

"Hello, Voldemort."

Voldemort leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together, and he whispered, "Time to die."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  So, here's the next chapter of FAIREST. These chapters are so fun to write. Just I'm loving it. I missed this story more than you.
> 
> Now, just a heads up: this story is carefully planned. I have three arcs planned out, and this particular arc should be drawing closed within the next 4 chapters or so. We've still got two more characters to meet so that we can get into the meat of the story, which is Arc Two. Arc One is completely plotted out. Totally outlined, so that'll be super easy to churn out. Arc Two is in the planning stages. That basically means that I have a list of main points that I need to hit but, I haven't outlined by chapter yet. Basically, what I'm saying, is that Arc One will be coming out fast and furious, and Arc Two will come but, just a little slower because I want to outline at least 5 chapters and write 2 full chapters.


	10. Chapter Nine

"Hello, Voldemort."

They were so close together, breathing the same air.

"Time to die."

Harry looked up, shaking his head. Here they were again, in the same position, and here he was, pressed against a tree by the man who had killed his parents. For some strange reason, he could not strike him. Voldemort was captivating and, Harry had always been a curious boy.

Yet, he could not allow himself to die.

"I'm afraid...that it's not time, just yet," Harry whispered and he drove his knee into Voldemort's groin. The man let out a sharp yowl and he stumbled away, groaning.

Harry drew his sword and fell into the dueling stance, fearless. He was not afraid of the man before him, even if he was stronger, taller, and much more experienced than he. He knew he should be afraid, but he wasn't. Harry had Fire.

"Are you ready to fight me? Will you fight me, beautiful, beautiful Harry Potter?" Voldemort whispered and Harry looked at Voldemort from the shine of his leather boots to the burning pair of crimson eyes.

"If I must fight you to live, then I will."

Voldemort pulled Horcrux from its sheath and swung down hard. Harry dodged and he was shocked when the man pulled the sword up from the heavy blow he attempted to deliver. He thrust and Harry swung himself to the side, his cloak swirling around him. He used the momentum of his spin to slice at Voldemort.

Voldemort blocked, staring at Harry with an arched eyebrow.

"Just over two-and-a-half weeks and you're rather good. The Order is riding you hard," Voldemort said, mockingly. Harry flushed at the double entendre and glared at the man, kicking out with all his might.

Voldemort grunted when Harry's foot connected with his chest. He stumbled backward. Harry thrust with his sword and Voldemort stumbled back again to avoid the blow. Harry stumbled to regain his footing, too much momentum driving him forward. Voldemort swiftly disarmed him, Harry's sword flying away. Harry cried out as he twisted his ankle in a scrambled to get away. Before Harry could recover, Voldemort was suddenly towering over him with his sword held high above his head. Just as his sword began to descend, Harry pulled his wand.

" _Arresto Momentum_!"

The sword's descent slowed and Harry rolled out of the way. He darted for his sword and gasped when a bright green spell scorched the grass. Harry jerked his wand away and searched through his mind.

"You won't be able to best me, sweet—" Voldemort snarled.

" _Gravis_ ," Harry shouted, using the Heaviness Charm. Voldemort groaned as his weight doubled and his knees buckled. It was only an illusion that would last seconds but, it was enough for Harry to pull the knife from his belt and slash at the Dark Lord, just as the man uttered the countercharm.

Harry threw himself back as Voldemort's hand flashed out, intending on hitting him across the face.

Voldemort stared at him, vaguely impressed.

"I'm not just a pretty face, Voldemort."

Harry waited for Voldemort to move but, the man just stared at him, brushing his fingers across his chest. He came away with blood. Harry's blow had been a shallow wound but, a wound nonetheless.

"I've come to realize that," Voldemort said softly.

He slowly began to stalk towards him, a curious look on the Dark Lord's face. Harry swallowed, racking his brain for the Summoning Charm. It had been the newest Charm that he had learned and one of the more difficult ones. He'd stayed up all night to master it. It was...it was…

" _Accio_ sword," Harry called, and his sword flew into his hand.

Harry stood his ground and Voldemort came to a stop, surprised that Harry was no longer trying to get away.

"There's something about you, Lord Voldemort," Harry murmured.

Voldemort looked at Harry with suspicion and trepidation. Slowly, he lowered his wand, and Harry straightened from his crouch. He didn't sheathe his sword but instead used it as support. His ankle throbbed.

Harry nodded. "You need more than my death. Don't you?"

Voldemort's eyes glimmered. He stared at Harry, a starving man. Harry made a noise of distress in the back of his throat. Voldemort's eyes called for blood.

"More? You already know that," Voldemort said softly.

Harry swallowed. He knew this type of man. A man who wanted to be flattered. But, this was a dangerous game that he played and, he was no Tonks. He didn't know how to wield sexuality. He barely had any sexuality, untouched as he was.

"More. You want me...you want my heart...you want my power. You want much but, it's not what you need. What is it that you need, Lord Voldemort?" Harry asked and there was something different about the young prince.

Harry Potter's eyes burned. This was the same beautiful prince that Voldemort had wanted to break the moment he saw him. But, now, there was something ethereal, almost fragile, about him. But, still, the incredible resolve remained in the tension of his body.

It reminded Voldemort of here.

His first heart.

The first Fairest.

Helena.

 _What...is it that you need from me, Tom_?

Helena could not see his face but, he felt as if she had stared in his soul and passed eternal judgment. He had answered her honestly: her blood would forge an empire, eternal and beautiful.

_Then it is yours._

Freely given. Helena had asked him a question and he could not bring himself to lie. Not to her when she was giving him her heart freely. Now, this boy was asking him the very same daunting question.

It brought back memories of drops of blood and whispered words. Memories long thought forgotten to the Pensieve, memories long thought lost. He remembered Rowena and her broken smile. He remembered the last time any of the Slytherins had prayed to the gods. When he looked down at his gloved hands, he could remember them still stained red.

"If you have so much knowledge, what is it that I need?" Voldemort challenged.

Harry sighed, "I do not know."

"Nor do I. But, I know what I want. I want your heart," Voldemort said coldly, laying his palm flat over Harry's chest. He closed his eyes. He could feel it beating; hard and fast. Harry Potter was not as calm as he pretended to be.

"But, it's not what you need."

Voldemort's crimson eyes flashed. "You don't know what I need," he snarled. "I will burn the heart of you. And as you lay dying, I will devour it from your chest as you watch."

Harry seemed unaffected by his words. He looked smug, proven right, and his lips curled into a triumphant smile.

"You want too much. You want me in too many ways. You want me in your bed, on my knees, on your dinner plate, in a grave. But, you need one thing. So, choose," Harry said, softly, calculating.

Voldemort bared his teeth.

"Shut up, you little shit."

Then, his lips were on Harry's, in a bruising kiss. Harry dropped his sword and looped one arm around the man's neck pulling him down, fingers tangling in the hair at the name of Voldemort's neck. Harry hummed as the Dark Lord's tongue slid into her mouth, tasting him, possessing him. Voldemort was everywhere, pressed against the lines of Harry's body.

With Harry's other hand, he slowly raised his knife, and he could taste salt. Was he crying? For this man or for himself? Harry let out a shuddering sob into Voldemort's mouth and sucked on his bottom lip, wrapping a leg around Voldemort's thigh, tangling his body with his. He pressed the knife against the back of Voldemort's neck.

Voldemort pulled his bottom lip with his teeth and shuddered, looking down at Harry.

"Don't even think about it, sweetling," Voldemort whispered, just for them to hear.

Harry froze when he felt Voldemort's wand pressed against his side. They stared at each other for a long moment and Harry swallowed.

"Please, don't kill me," he whispered, his voice cracking.

Voldemort raised a thumb, brushing away Harry's tears. He pressed the pad of his thumb to his tongue, tasting the Fairest's tears. They tasted like smoke and salt.

"You speak of what I want. What I need. Do you know what you need?" Voldemort whispered.

Harry closed his eyes, fighting back tears. Voldemort looked at him like he could read the code of his soul like he knew every single thought that Harry had ever thought. He swallowed. Harry could hear the phoenix lament.

"I need to not die," Harry said.

Voldemort tilted his head and leaned forward, kissing the space beneath Harry's ear. Harry shuddered, trembling from head to toe.

"Why?" Voldemort breathed as he moved to the other side of Harry's face, kissing underneath his other ear.

"Because that's what they need. I know what I want too," Harry confessed and he dragged Voldemort down again, kissing him hard and long.

Harry breathed heavily against Voldemort's mouth, sucking at Voldemort's lip, dragging his hands down the back of the man's neck, over broad shoulders. Guilt wrapped tight around his gut but, he clung to Voldemort as if he were the only solid thing in the world. So much had happened over the past two weeks; so much had changed. He had been humiliated and denied and called a whore. He had done all the things that were asked of him and had never wanted for one thing.

Harry had never asked for anything in his entire life.

But, Voldemort was his constant and Harry wanted more than anything than he'd ever wanted in his life.

Harry had no doubt that Voldemort wanted to fuck him as much as he wanted to kill him. Harry wanted this. Just this moment.

"You are so...beautiful," Voldemort moaned in Harry's mouth and Harry groaned.

He lost himself as Voldemort forced a thigh between his legs and grabbed him by his waist, jerking him up. Harry gasped as the position brought Voldemort's heavy erection against his own. It sent a shock up Harry's spine and he whined, rocking against the man, experimenting. He whimpered, heat rising. He could smell burning wood, heavy and smoky.

"M-more," Harry whispered, dragging Voldemort's head down to his neck. Voldemort kissed bruises down the column of Harry's neck, marking him.

Harry keened. This was his. This didn't belong to the Order or the Dursleys or even all of fucking Albion. This was his.

Then, the sound of hooves shattered the illusion. This was not just his.

"Fuck," Harry whispered and he shoved Voldemort away with so much force that the taller man stumbled. Harry pulled his wand. " _Expelliarmus_."

Voldemort blinked, gaping as he was swiftly Disarmed and Harry caught his wand. Harry swallowed, vibrating as the wand core sang to him. He heard the phoenix lament and his vision was obscured by crimson for just a moment before Fawkes settled on his shoulders.

Harry swallowed. Ron. Ginny. Fred. George. And Tonks.

Harry turned his face into Fawkes' crimson feathers breathing heavily for just a second. He composed himself, dragging his eyes from the armed Order members to the Dark Lord. Voldemort smiled.

"You are clever. Beauty is power, indeed."

"No. I'm really not. Clever, I mean," Harry whispered. His wand was shaking. His hand was shaking.

Voldemort stared at Fawkes.

"Fawkes led them here."

"Don't move. Please," Harry said, softly, moving closer to Voldemort. He kicked away Horcrux as Voldemort lunged for it and stepped on the Dark Lord's hand, pointing his own wand at his face. "Bind him."

" _INCARCEROUS_."

Five voices raged and Harry watched as ropes wrapped around Voldemort. His hands were bound, tied to a rope around his neck. Bound around his biceps. Ropes around his knees. Around his feet.

"I'm afraid to Stun him," Harry said, softly.

Tonks bared her teeth. "I'm not," she hissed and she wordlessly Stunned him, a bright red light bringing him down. "I'll carry him."

Harry nodded, stowing the Dark Lord's wand in his cloak as he walked towards Ginny's horse. He didn't wait for her to offer a hand as he mounted the horse, sitting behind her. Ginny looked over her shoulder, eyes warm. She knew.

"Did he force himself on you?" Ginny asked, softly.

She was giving him an out.

Harry smiled and looked away as Tonks floated Voldemort across the back of her horse and stuck a sticking charm.

"No."

* * *

 

**MIRROR**

* * *

 

Harry stripped away his clothing, ignoring Ginny and Tonks. It was too late for modesty, and he felt cold for the first time in his entire life.

"Do you think me a whore now, Ginny?" Harry whispered as he pulled a clean white tunic devoid of Voldemort's blood and the dirt that he had collected from rolling on the ground and fighting back.

He pulled on dark red robes and laced up his boots. He finally turned to look at Ginny. Her cheeks were bright red, making her freckles stark against her face. She had been watching him dress. Tonks stared at him, eyes cold.

"I...I don't understand. Why did you kiss him?" Ginny asked.

Harry turned away from her, staring out of the window. Night had fallen. Torches were gathered right in front of the Burrow II. McGonagall had tied the man to a post. He could see the camp gathering. It was time for judgment and it would be his judgment that passed.

"Because all my life, I have done what was needed and I have not asked for anything. I needed to live. I wanted to kiss him," Harry confessed. He would not lie.

Ginny growled. "That man has murdered hundreds of people. He has burned villages down, eaten the hearts of innocent girls. He has imposed unfair taxes on the Muggles. He placed his mad sister on a throne that belonged to your mother. He murdered your parents! His Death Eaters have tortured hundreds of Muggleborns and Muggles for the hell of it."

Harry turned to look at Ginny.

"I know," he whispered.

"No! You don't!" Ginny roared. "Voldemort killed my uncles in a public execution intended to inspire fear! When I was a girl, his Death Eaters, Travers, and Dolohov, led a raid. They murdered my parents and they...they…so, yes, I think you're a whore! Desperate for his cock like the rest of them!"

"Harry did what he did to survive," Tonks bit out, cutting off Ginny. Ginny reared back like she had been slapped. Harry didn't flinch, staring between the two women. "I do the same. If he's a whore, what must I be?"

"That's not what I meant, Tonks, and you know it," Ginny retorted.

"The Death Eaters' sins are not Harry's to bear. Do not ask that of him," Tonks said, firmly.

Ginny swallowed and turned away, crossing her arms over her chest. She reached down, grabbing Harry's cloak and tossing it at him. Harry snatched it out of the air and whipped it around his shoulders.

"Thank you, Tonks," Harry said, softly.

"Don't thank me," Tonks said, her voice hard. Harry flinched. "I understand. I do. But, I am furious. He killed my father."

Ginny looked surprised by Tonks' confession.

"I know," Harry whispered.

"You know what he took from me," Tonks said softly. She held out her hand to him and Harry took it, squeezing hard in apology. Tonks nodded and she sighed. "Let's go."

Harry nodded. He walked from the room, Ginny and Tonks flanking him. It was only them in the room. The rest waited outside. Harry wondered if everyone already knew what circumstances that the Order had found him and Voldemort in. The thought made his stomach turn.

Harry walked out of the front door and stared at the entire population of the camp. Just in front of the Burrow II was the wooden post. He could see the back of Voldemort, his hands bound behind the post. An enormous wooden cage was around him, enforced by conjured iron. Harry could feel the protective spells, the wards. Fawkes sat on top of the cage, singing the lament. Voldemort's wand burned against Harry's skin.

Harry stared at his people. They were all staring between him and Voldemort, hissing terrible things at the Dark Lord, if they were brave enough. Some just stared at Voldemort, far too terrified. They were muttering to each other, gossiping. They stared at him with awe, wondering how he had brought the Dark Lord before him. Children stared in curiosity or hid their faces behind their mothers' skirts.

Harry saw Teddy in the arms of Lavender Brown, a girl that Ron flirted with often enough.

"This is no place for children. If you have a child, leave with them," Harry said, his voice cutting through the murmurings.

McGonagall, Moody, and Benjy Fendwick all looked up. The oldest members of the Order. Harry lifted his chin, daring them to speak. McGonagall dipped her head, giving him power. Fendwick and Moody glared at him. So, they knew. No matter.

The older teens were handed children, sent away with them. Harry walked past the cage, never taking his eyes off the crowd. He was not a fool. This interrogation could very-well turn into something bloodier. No child should see something like that.

"You're rather bossy, aren't you?"

Harry finally turned to look at the man on the ground. Voldemort's eyes were closed but, he was turned towards Harry. He looked far too relaxed for a man that had just been captured.

"Kindly shut the fuck up," Harry said, voice harsh.

Voldemort's lips twitched. "Is that what you want or what you need?"

"Both."

Voldemort opened one lazy crimson eye. He said nothing before he closed his eye again and took a deep breath. He was so at ease that it put Harry on edge.

"You are not frightened," Harry said.

"Why should I be frightened?" Voldemort asked with a slight smile on his face. "I do not fear any of you."

"I imagine not."

Harry looked back at the crowd. The Weasleys were gathered together. Ginny had joined them and they were all whispering to one another. Bill and Percy glared at him, the most suspicious. Harry suspected that she was telling them his response.

"They saw you. They don't trust you."

Harry spun and looked at Voldemort. Voldemort's eyes were open now. He was staring around with mild interest, unbothered by the looks of hatred.

"I know. Shut up, git," Harry snarled, vibrating with irritation. This man was not afraid. He had the capability to kill him and he still smiled.

"I'm not a git."

Harry burned. The torches flared brighter. "You burn villages for fun. You're more than a git."

Voldemort smirked.

"We're bantering. Nearly flirting. Are you flirting with me, Harry Potter? With me, the Dark Lord Voldemort?" Voldemort asked.

Harry pulled a wand and barely reacted when he saw the pale wood of yew. He yanked out the ceremonial knife and snarled, storming up to the door of the cage. The group of witnesses fell silent. Voldemort stared up at Harry, a challenge in his eyes.

"Say one more word and I will kill you with your own wand."

Voldemort raised an eyebrow.

"What's stopping you? I dare you," Voldemort hissed. Harry faltered.

The man's lips reminded him of Tonks. Tonks who didn't have a father and hadn't seen her mother in many years. He remembered his own mother. He remembered the mausoleum. His dead father. All of the dead people that were gone because of this man. This man that Harry wanted.

"You don't deserve a quick death, Lord Voldemort," Harry said, his voice trembling. "I will do as you have done to my mother. I will rip your heart out of your warm chest and feed it to the Mad Queen."

Voldemort smiled for a moment. Then, the amusement in his eyes shuttered, leaving something cold and harsh. Harry felt her presence behind him and he took a step back, swallowing his pride.

"Your Highness, please step back. I need to enter."

Harry stepped away from the door and watched Madame Minerva McGonagall waved her wand in a complicated manner. The door creaked open. She entered the cage. Harry knew there was no love lost between the two powerful figures: the Dark Lord and the Leader of the Rebellion.

Voldemort looked up at McGonagall, his eyes chilly. "Shall we begin?"

**MIRROR**

"He's been gone far too long."

Lucius looked up from the pheasant that he had swiftly devoured, wiping his fingers delicately along his Transformed hand towel. He threw the filthy towel into the fire. As it touched the flames, it turned back into the fallen leaf that it had been before. Lucius pulled the bone from his mouth, licked clean.

"Have faith in our Lord, Severus. He comes and goes. You know that," Lucius chastised. Severus nodded, acceding that Lucius had a point.

The Dark Lord roamed, even when on a regular hunt. But, he had never left without telling Lucius and Severus where he was going. Lord Voldemort was paranoid enough to give them a time limit for his outings. Lucius usually brushed off such precautions, trusting in their Lord's abilities, but Severus' stomach felt like a pit.

"He's usually back within the hour. Tempus," Severus said, sharply. He frowned as the time glittered in the air for a moment before disappearing. "He left before sundown. It's nearing six hours since his disappearance. It's near midnight, Lucius."

Lucius considered this. "This is true. He returns and regales us with dramatic, spectacular stories of death."

"You mean he brags," Severus corrected, brushing a greasy hair from his eye. He looked down his large hooked nose and over at Lucius but, Lucius went back to cleaning the bones from his pheasant. "Do you think he found him? The Fairest?"

Lucius shrugged. "Maybe that's what's taking him so long. A pretty little thing like that? Our Lord doesn't normally play with his food but, any man would fall to their knees before someone that looks like that."

Severus hummed. The boy had been beautiful. Dark hair, pale skin, plump red lips. Those green eyes that reminded him of Lily. The Dark Lord appreciated beauty and Severus knew his Lord well. He'd want him.

"Perhaps," Severus allowed. "Or he got the better of him."

"A second time?" Lucius drawled. "Severus, you go too far. The Dark Lord is formidable. He wouldn't let a pretty little green boy trick him again."

"He always says he only falls for parlor tricks twice," Severus retorted.

"He says that in jest, Severus. He never falls for parlor tricks," Lucius said, rolling his eyes. Severus grit his teeth, annoyed with being dismissed once more.

"There is something off," he insisted.

"You're too suspicious, Severus. Calm your nerves and dine instead of brooding at the fire and flapping around like an overgrown bat."

"I haven't moved since we started this fire," Severus retorted.

Lucius waved his arm. "I meant it, figuratively."

Severus prepared another dry remark. There was the loud caw of a messenger falcon. It was a harsh and urgent sound that falcons were trained to make. Severus' thoughts disappeared and he stood, overwhelmed for a moment. Was it the Dark Lord? Was is the capital? The armies? Severus held his arm out and the falcon landed on it.

Severus took the letter and turned it over. It was a wax seal that he was not familiar with but, he knew the style. It was a Gaulish style. So, the Granger girl.

"What does it say?" Lucius asked.

Severus turned it over again. It was unaddressed on the outside. He ripped it open swiftly, crack the turquoise wax.

_My Lord,_

_The Queen is dead. Draco has taken the throne and Princess Andromeda, Warden of the West, tells me that my Lady, Princess Narcissa the King's Mother, has murdered her own sister in a play for power. I was told to send this urgent message to you by a servant girl named Luna who claimed that you could be trusted with this information._

_I hold reservations for now, but at present moment, you are this empire's only hope._

_Please return, immediately._

_Lady Hermione Granger_

Severus looked up, feeling cold. He shoved the letter into Lucius' face. The blond man took it, lazily, marking the parchment with his greasy fingers. Lord Malfoy read it and stood, picked bones falling from his lap into the grass and he dropped the parchment into the fire. Lucius turned back to Severus, surprisingly composed in the face of learning that his wife had just committed sororicide.

"Fuck. The Mad Queen is dead," Severus said, his voice rough. "Fuck."

Lucius looked at Severus, grimly. "My sentiments exactly."

* * *

 

**ON THE WALL**

* * *

 

"Welcome to the Resistance camp, Lord Voldemort," McGonagall said, her voice unyieldingly chilly. Harry still himself, forcing himself not to flinch at her tone. "You will pay for your crimes."

"Will I, now?" Voldemort asked, his face blank.

Everyone was unnerved by his composure in the face of his enemies.

McGonagall opened her mouth to retort but, Ron stormed forward, baring his teeth through the wooden bars, his wand raised and his fingers wrapped tight around the battle-axe on his waist. Voldemort didn't seem half as concerned as Harry was.

"Yes! You will! You'll pay for the crimes you have committed! For the murders and devastation that you created!" Ron roared. There was a rumble of agreement from around him. Harry reached back, grabbing for Tonks' hand. She squeezed his hand tight.

"I do not regret what I have done," Voldemort said. It wasn't a taunt as much as a confession. Harry shuddered. Their disgust was palpable.

"Men like you should burn in hell," Tonks snarled under her breath.

Voldemort looked at her sharply. He tilted his head, staring at her for a long time and then, his gaze softened and he smiled. Harry froze. He recognized her. Tonks realized it too. She took a step back, waiting for him to shout it to the Order.

"You think the gods would punish men like me? For the injustices that I have wrought?" Voldemort asked, his voice nearly gentle. Tonks winced. Voldemort leaned forward as far as he could, never looking away from his niece. "Girl, there are no men like me. Only me."

He laughed, a sound that chilled Harry's core.

"Confess your crimes before judgment is passed. Let the world know what you have done," McGonagall snarled "Why have you come?"

Voldemort stayed silent, staring up at McGonagall. McGonagall frowned and Ron went red with rage.

"Why were you searching for Harry?" Ron snarled and he took a step forward as if to beat the answers out of the Dark Lord. Harry wouldn't be surprised if he tried.

Harry's hand tightened over the Dark Lord's yew wand and he bit his lip as crimson eyes met green. Harry took a step closer, ignoring the incredulous stares from the crowd and the judgment from the Order members.

"Answer the questions, bastard," Bill shouted.

There was a general roar of agreement and Harry lifted his wand, shooting sparks into the air. The crowd fell silent as Harry stepped forward, pushing past Ron and pressing his hand against the cage door.

"Nobody speak. This is King Salazar's firstborn. Show some respect," Harry said, his voice so low that it was nearly a whisper. They broke into more whispers, judgment.

"He's a murder, Harry! He killed your parents. Locked your godfather in Azkaban," Remus snarled, his voice low and feral. Harry looked up with fire in his green eyes.

"I am well are of what he did to my parents, Mr. Lupin. I carry the knife that carved my mother open. I know what's he done. I know what he has threatened to do. But, you all will show him some fucking respect," Harry snarled.

Moody's gaze was black but Harry ignored it. He turned back to the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord's lips twitched into a slight smirk as McGonagall shifted, frustrated with his silence. Voldemort leaned forward.

"I have no answers to give," Voldemort said.

McGonagall shot him a look of disgust before she backed away and pushed the cage door open. Moody limped forward, wand raised, and Ron slid in, raising his wand. Ron looked at Moody and Moody nodded once.

"I'll make you answer," Ron said. " _Crucio_."

Voldemort jerked, laughing long and hard. Ron stared down at his wand in confusion before he looked up at Voldemort and Moody. Moody cleared his throat.

"You have to mean it, boy," Voldemort hissed.

Moody lifted his wand and sneered. " _Crucio_."

There was a gasp from the crowd as Voldemort jerked, his back arching against the pole. He clenched his jaw tight, breathing harshly through the pain. The veins in his neck pulsed. Harry shivered and pushed between Moody and Ron, darting in front of Voldemort, holding his hands open. He was hit with a rush of agony that brought him to his knees before it was lifted nearly immediately.

"What the fuck are you doing, boy?" Moody roared.

Harry glared at the man. "You will not torture him. Not in front of me. We are better than them."

"He's not worth your protection, Harry," Ron retorted.

"Fuck off, Ron," Harry hissed and Ron reared back, shocked. Harry trembled with the aftershocks of the pain and he looked between McGonagall and Moody, carefully measuring his words. "He won't talk. You think he can't handle torture? He's the Dark Lord. You have no real power over him."

Moody ground his teeth. Harry looked around the camp. They were all watching, waiting for Moody and McGonagall to make their decision.

"Then what shall we do?" McGonagall asked, finally.

_Beauty is power._

"You have no real power over him," Harry said, shortly. "But. I do."

Voldemort let out a rough laugh. "And so you do, sweetling."

Harry spun around and fell to his knees before the Dark Lord, crawling in between his legs. He sat back on his haunches and stared into Voldemort's eyes. He settled his hands on the other man's knees.

"What are you doing, Harry? Let me do this, I've been train—"

Harry looked over his shoulder and hissed, "Shut up, Ron."

Harry turned back to Voldemort and leaned up so that he was taller than the Dark Lord. He settled his hands on the Dark Lord's shoulders and ignored everyone. He leaned in, pressing his lips to Voldemort's. He sighed into the kiss and pulled back. Voldemort stared at him, crimson eyes dark.

"What kind of games are you playing now, Harry Potter? I only fall for the same parlor trick twice," Voldemort whispered.

"Why do you want my heart?" Harry whispered, bringing his hands up to cup Voldemort's jaw. He brushed his thumb against the man's lower lip and he squirmed as Voldemort nipped at the skin. His cock twitched in his trousers.

"You ask dangerous questions. In front of all of these people? I didn't take you for an exhibitionist," Voldemort taunted. Harry's grip tightened on the man's shoulder and he leaned forward, licking up Voldemort's jaw. Stubble scratched at his tongue.

"My Lord, what does some of my blood give you?" Harry whispered, climbing onto Voldemort's lap, straddling him. He could feel the man's swelling cock under him.

"My Lord?" Voldemort asked, thrusting up once.

Harry smirked. "My Lord. Answer my question."

"Your blood gives me only a glimmer of my goal but, it's a worthy glimmer indeed. Why?"

Harry pulled his knife from behind him and cut a shallow wound along his arm. Voldemort stared as blood welled, glinting darkly in the firelight.

"I will let you taste it. If you answer my question," Harry whispered, his red lips turned into a sly smile. Voldemort's breath caught in his throat. "So...why exactly do you want my heart?"

"I told you. Youth and beauty forever, sweetling," Voldemort said, his eyes tracking the blood sliding down Harry's forearm, gathering at his wrist. He thrust up again and Harry gasped, biting his lip to stop himself from cumming.

This was different from wanking himself off. Another hard hot body beneath his was... _focus_.

"What does that mean?" Harry whispered. The green of his eyes looked bright in the flaming torches that flickered against the darkness of night.

Voldemort leaned forward, neck craning as he brushed his lips against Harry's ear. Voldemort dragged his tongue down the shell of Harry's ear and Harry froze.

"I mean quite _literally_ , that I have eaten the hearts of Princess Helena of House Ravenclaw and Princess Lily of House Gryffindor. I mean that these things come in threes. I mean that to achieve eternal life and beauty...I must eat the raw heart of the most beautiful person in the world."

 _You_.

Harry jumped up from the man, fear in every line of his body. Voldemort threw his head back and laughed. Harry looked at McGonagall and Moody. So, they knew. He could see it in their eyes. But, Ron looked confused, as if he didn't quite believe him. So, only the elders knew about this. Harry would be damned if he faced the same fate as his mother.

"Do you fear me, Prince Harry?"

Harry steeled himself and looked at Voldemort. Voldemort leaned forward, curious and more than a little amused. The echo of his laughter remained on his face. Harry pursed his lips.

"I do not fear you. I fear what you could do to me."

Voldemort laughed again. "Then, you are as foolish as you are beautiful."

"Did you come alone?"

"And why would I tell you that?" Voldemort sneered.

Harry's hands clenched into tight fists. His nails pressed into his soft skin, creating crescent-shaped marks on his palm. He slowly lifted his hand and he called the Fire, watching it swirl around his fingers. Ron jumped back as the heat sweltered and sweat poured down Voldemort's face. He watched, fascinated.

"I said they couldn't torture you. I didn't say I wouldn't kill you. Unlike you, I could 'quite literally' burn the heart of you," Harry whispered.

Voldemort grinned. "You are vicious."

"You have no idea."

Voldemort hummed. "I think I do. You bit a man's finger off."

There were gasps and quiet murmurs as the crowd debated what that meant. Harry flinched and looked around. Moody looked vaguely impressed while the Weasleys looked disgusted. Remus looked horrified. Harry turned back around before he could catch a glimpse of Tonks' expression. That would break him. Instead, he lifted his arm and pressed hard to the cut, gathering blood on his finger tips.

"Answer my question," Harry said, offering his fingers.

Voldemort's smile fell away. "I came with two others. Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape. They're three leagues to the northwest."

And Harry pressed his hand to Voldemort's lips and rewarded him with the blood on his fingers.

* * *

 

**WHO IS**

* * *

 

"Something's wrong."

Severus turned an annoyed, dark gaze on his comrade. He looked into the dying embers of their fire and shifted, his bones creaking from sitting still for too long. It had been another hour or two. Midnight was fast approaching.

"I've been attempting to tell you this for hours," Severus said, coldly.

Lucius sneered at Severus.

"It would not have been the first time that the Dark Lord left without telling us. He is the Dark Lord. He comes and goes as he pleases, as he well should, seeing as he's the fucking Dark—" Lucius snarled, working himself into a defensive rage.

In the middle of Lucius' babbling, Severus turned away from him. He peered into the surrounding woods with careful eyes. He saw the shadows move. Severus jumped up from his seat.

"What are you—"

"You talk too much," Severus hissed as he picked up his sword from its perch against the side of his tent.

Slowly, he unsheathed it and drew his wand. There was the sound of steel being drawn. Lucius walked towards his own sword and grabbed it. Lucius looked at Severus, put out by the fanfare.

"What is the meaning of this, Severus?" Lucius asked, pompous and irritated. Severus shook his head.

"Someone's out there. Put out the fire."

Lucius sighed, long and hard. He nodded and drew his wand. " _Agua_ —"

" _STUPEFY_!"

"Protego," Severus snapped, blocking the four Stunners.

Lucius jumped back, wide-eyed as two twin redheads flew over the fire like birds, launching themselves forward. Their twin expressions were fierce upon their freckled brows and they brandished swords like they had been born holding them.

" _AVADA KEDAVRA_!" Lucius cried out, the Killing Curse flying from your wand.

He faltered when the redheads swung each other out of the way and landed on either side of the fire. They looked up, slowly, fire brightening their brown eyes. Severus looked between the two, calculatingly. They were wearing battle robes, emblazoned with a phoenix on their breasts. Their face shape was remarkable similar to Prewett twins. Unsurprising. So, House Prewett wasn't extinct. Severus pushed that out of his mind.

"Who are you?" Lucius hissed, raising his sword and wand.

In an eerie unison, the twins whispered, "Your executioners."

They launched themselves forward, moving in perfect tandem. Lucius blocked both of the swords coming down over his face. Lucius nearly took a step back but, he hardened himself, pushing them off with his sword. He neatly cut and slashed at one twin, raising his wand and firing curses with his other wand. Lucius spun and kicked out, catching one twin in the chest. The redhead stumbled and the other twin reached out, wide-eyed.

"George!"

As the boy was distracted, Lucius pointed his wand at the two and hissed, " _Incendio_."

George pushed his brother out of the way just in time and they came back at him, slashing their swords down with precision. Lucius spun, blond hair whipping around his face as he thrust. His blow was quickly parried but before either one of the twins could stick their sword in him, he quickly danced out of the way. Lucius smirked.

Severus may have been the better swordsman but, Lucius was faster.

"Would you like to take one?" Lucius called over his shoulder, confident in his abilities. "Or I can finish them both off. You just sit back and look greasy."

He frowned when he heard Severus grunt in exertion.

"I'm busy."

Lucius glanced over his shoulder just for a second and groaned when he saw Severus fighting off two other redheads. One had a long ponytail and a fang in his earlobe and the other was shorter but had broader shoulders. Lucius ground his teeth together.

" _Baubilios_!" Lucius shouted, shooting off the lightning curse.

The two twins dove towards the ground.

"Fighting with magic? Can't beat us with a sword, eh?" the unnamed twin taunted.

Lucius laughed, quietly, low and full of malice.

"I'm not a Muggle. I am a pureblood wizard. What use would I be with only a sword and no wand," Lucius said, coldly.

"See that's the problem with you lot! Think you're better than everyone else. Well, guess what, my Lord? You're not!" George spat.

Lucius' lips pulled into a humorless smile. "Would you like to place a bet on that?" he asked as he stuck his sword into the fire and brought it out, the steel glowing slightly. He slashed down at George, catching his doublet. The cloth split and began to smoke and George cried out, burned by the heat of the metal.

"Less talking, more dueling!" Severus snarled. " _Stupefy_."

"Having a difficult time doing both, Severus?" Lucius taunted as he went after the unnamed twin as George recovered. The unnamed twin stumbled as Lucius slashed through his shoulder.

Lucius knew it was only a flesh wound but, hearing the cry of pain and George's scream of fury made him feel victorious. His triumph was extinguished when George raised his wand and snarled, " _Expelliarmus_."

Lucius tried to keep his wand in hand but it flew into George's hand. With his hand reached out, he was open and the unnamed twin tackled him to the ground, sitting on his sword arm and throwing his body across his back. Lucius writhed underneath him but George sat down on his legs, trapping him against the dirt.

"Severus! Run!" Lucius shouted.

He turned his head to see the stockier redhead stumble, wrenching Severus' blade from his bloody thigh. Severus was on the ground, hands raised in surrender.

Well, fuck.

* * *

 

**FAIREST OF**

* * *

 

"Sister."

Narcissa smiled down at her sister in greeting. The brunette woman held out her hand, guiding Narcissa out to the balcony, two of her strange Western maids standing at attention. They were hard-faced and disciplined in a way that Narcissa had never seen. Narcissa looked around at the balcony, lit by torches, the moon, and the stars. Just outside the castle grounds, a storm brewed.

Hogsmeade would have a rough night.

"Good evening, Andromeda," Narcissa said, her voice pleasant though she was anything but.

Her son had heard petitions for the first time from the commoners of Hogsmeade and the court. Draco did not take kindly to being told that his personal guard frequented too many whorehouses and brutalized them. Nor did he appreciate being told that the sanitation system in Hogsmeade needed to be improved upon. He had told them to Vanish the shit away and Narcissa had informed him that Vanishing meant it always appeared again. The final straw had been a vassal of House Longbottom attempting to take out a loan now that House Longbottom was nearly extinct. Narcissa had to talk her son down from an impromptu execution.

"Thank you for joining me for tea. I know you had a long tiring day," Andromeda said.

Narcissa granted her sister a smile that wasn't really a smile. Andromeda smiled back, just as sour, and she waved her hand to the two servant girls. Narcissa watched as they obediently laid out a spread of scones, two teacups, and a teapot.

"Scones with cream? My favorite?" Narcissa asked, vaguely surprised and mildly impressed.

"You are my little sister. I know what you like," Andromeda said. The tension in her voice could cut through glass. Narcissa regarded her sister as she waved her wand, pouring the tea for Andromeda and herself.

Andromeda, despite her never-ending grief over a Mudblood, was still a Slytherin. She had had no problem with the murderous personalities of their older siblings. Before she had met the Muggle, she had actively participated in keeping their monstrous deeds hidden. Despite it all, Andromeda was the same woman and Narcissa was not stupid. The woman wanted something.

Or knew something.

Narcissa's eyes narrowed. "I'm sure."

Andromeda sipped her tea slowly as Narcissa dipped her scones in cream and quietly chewed. Andromeda looked at her maids and nodded once, dismissing them. Narcissa watched them march out with the gravitas of soldiers.

"You train them so well," Narcissa said, pressing a smile to her face, relaxing in her chair. "You must tell me how."

Andromeda turned a dark gaze onto Narcissa. Narcissa frowned, letting concern permeate her being.

"What troubles you, dear sister?" Narcissa asked.

Andromeda frowned. "You're a slimy bitch, Narcissa, and you have been since we were children. Drop that simpering act now," Andromeda drawled. Narcissa winced, her frown sliding off her face like oil. "How could you?"

"How could I what?" Narcissa sighed.

"'How could you what?'" Andromeda mocked. She slammed her hand on the table, full of judgment. "How could you kill our sister?"

"I did nothing of the sort," Narcissa said, honestly.

Andromeda laughed, long and hard. Narcissa stared at all of that disgust and derision and smiled. That was all for her. Andromeda wondered, briefly, when her little sister had become so heartless.

"Are you that desperate for his approval, Narcissa? That desperate for his love?" Andromeda spat. She stood so fast from her seat, she knocked the teacup to the ground. It shattered, splashes of hot tea soaking the hem of her gown. Andromeda had drawn her wand.

"Desperate? I don't know wh—"

" _Liar_ ," Andromeda hissed. Narcissa stared at her and thought that her eyes might have flashed red for a moment. "You're a liar and a fool. If you think this will make him love you, you're wrong. Our brother will never love anyone but himself. You are a child for thinking otherwise."

Narcissa's eyes widened as Andromeda condemned her. Narcissa stood and drew her own wand. The two sisters measured each other. Andromeda swallowed. Narcissa looked like she was made of diamond, her face immovable.

"You know nothing of what I do. You do not know my machinations or my motivations. Do not presume to know me," Narcissa warned. "I think it's time to take my leave."

Andromeda took a step forward as if she wanted to hit Narcissa. Narcissa raised her wand higher, pointing it between Andromeda's eyes.

"Fine. But, I have words of wisdom for you: he wants and wants and wants. He takes and takes and takes until there's nothing left. You think I know nothing, Narcissa? I feel everything. I _know_ you," Andromeda snarled.

Narcissa froze. Andromeda did know. Andromeda Empath.

"What do you know, then, Andromeda?" Narcissa asked, coldly.

"Our brother is greedy and he doesn't love you. He doesn't love anyone and he never fucking will. He's barely capable of loving himself. He can't feel that way. You're a child," Andromeda snarled. She waved her wand, opening the balcony doors with such a force that the glass shattered.

Pieces of glass rained down from the door frame. Narcissa ignored it all in favor of staring at her sister.

"You're not as broken as the world thinks you are. You feel," Narcissa observed.

Andromeda bared her teeth. "I am not broken. I do feel. And you know what've I been feeling for the past thirty-some years? Rage. Now, get the fuck out."

* * *

 

**THEM ALL?**

* * *

 

They waited. Harry paced the length of the cage over and over again, looking up periodically to see if Charlie, Bill, and the twins had returned yet. McGonagall spoke softly through the grates to Percy. Percy was taking rapid notes, his Quill writing what he was dictating. Every few moments, he would look at Harry with this look of disgust. It made Harry shiver and he turned away from it. Moody stood in the corner, watching. Harry was met with enemies at every turn.

"You could be a great king. In a different time."

Harry froze and looked down at the Dark Lord. McGonagall, Percy, Ron, and Moody all turned their sharp gazes onto Voldemort.

"You think so?" Harry asked. He looked at Percy, pointedly. "They don't."

Percy looked down, shamefaced.

Voldemort laughed, quietly. "Yes. You do what must be done to ensure the survival of your people and yourself. You do not care for their judgment. You are kind to your people and ruthless to your enemies. You endure. Our families were once like that but, when the wars against the Tabooed ended, they grew soft and too comfortable. Once cannot be comfortable on the Gilded Throne."

Harry hummed, crossing his arms.

"No?" he asked.

"No. It is a monstrously made thing, that my sisters and I crafted. It is meant to embody the monstrosity of the crown. You must be a monster to forge an empire. Are you a monster, Harry Potter?" Voldemort asked.

Before Harry could respond, someone shouted, "MADAME! WE'VE GOT THEM!"

McGonagall turned and they watched as the crowd split to allow, Bill, Charlie and the twins through. Harry stared at Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy. Severus was a greasy man with long black hair, a too-large nose, and looked akin to an overgrown bat. He seemed surprisingly docile for one of the most dangerous swordsmen in Albion. The man that sat, bound, behind Charlie had long silvery blond hair and baleful gray eyes, like his son. Lucius, then.

"Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy," McGonagall said, coldly. She transfigured the grass on either side of Voldemort into two more posts.

Charlie and Bill dismounted, and each twin helped their older brothers drag the captives to the cage. Moody opened the door and Charlie and Bill pushed Snape and Malfoy in roughly. Snape bared his teeth and Charlie delivered a swift punch to the face. Harry winced. Malfoy tossed his hair back, haughtily and sat down in front of the left post, waiting to be tied up. Harry watched as the twins cast the rope-binding spell.

Moody raised his own hand, throwing up more binding spells.

"You got captured? By children?" Voldemort sneered.

Severus glared at his Lord, no longer caring about propriety.

"Evidently," he said through gritted teeth.

Lucius sneered at Bill, Charlie, and the twins as the backed out of the cage and closed it roughly. Tonks held her hand out for the wands and Bill and Charlie handed them to her willingly.

"I can't believe we lost to Prewetts," Lucius hissed.

Ron bared his teeth. "Weasleys, asshole."

"Enough," Moody barked. "We begin again and then the Order shall pass their judgment."

"No," Harry snarled and Moody stared at him, wide-eyed. "I will pass my judgment."

Even as he said it, he was terrified. Harry had terrible judgment. Hours ago, he had been caught snogging the Dark Lord. But, he would not be pushed aside.

_Kill the boy, Harry Potter._

No, it would be him or not at all.

"But—" Moody started.

"Of course, your Highness," McGonagall said, nodding once.

Charlie stepped up to the cage and leaned forward. Where suspicion had been, there was now a glint of approval. "A falcon was found by their fire, your Highness. A messenger falcon."

Harry nodded, turning back to the three men. A messenger falcon meant something. It was an important message, then. It had to be delivered swiftly. He looked between Severus and Lucius, but the men remained tight-lipped. They stared up at the Prince of Gryffindor in defiance.

"What did it say?" Voldemort asked, softly.

Lucius glanced at his Lord from the corner of his eye and then out to the crowd.

"My Lord, I do not think it wise…" Lucius murmured.

"What. Did. It. Say?" Voldemort asked, enunciating every word with dangerous precision.

He vibrated with fury and it suddenly struck Harry that Voldemort could've escaped long ago. He could have ripped out of his bonds and torn through the wards. But, he hadn't. He had remained, testing Harry and the Order, for some reason. This was a game to the man. The game of thrones and he would always win. The wards quivered and Moody jerked.

Snape looked up. Tonelessly, he said, "The Mad Queen is dead. Draco has taken the throne. He is Emperor."

Silence. Harry had stopped breathing. He looked at Voldemort. Voldemort stared as if he were looking straight through Harry. He tilted his head, so completely in control that Harry really was frightened of him now.

"Who killed my sister?" Voldemort whispered.

"Why do you think you sister was killed?" Harry asked.

Voldemort didn't look at him. "My sister was insane but, she was never stupid and she was never weak in magic. And there are ways to prolong our lives. Who killed my sister, Severus? Lucius?"

Lucius swallowed. "Lady Granger wrote that Andromeda…" he hesitated. Harry glanced at Tonks, who stood stiffly. "Andromeda told her that Narcissa murdered her in a play for power. There was a body. She had been interred in the crypts."

Voldemort jerked against his ropes and the crowd gasped as the ropes fell away from him, turning his wisps of darkness. Voldemort cracked his bones but, didn't move from his seat in front of the pole. He ground his teeth together and his skin was bone white with rage.

"Narcissa...killed..my sister."

Severus nodded once. "Allegedly."

Voldemort said nothing. He looked at Harry, his brow furrowed.

"My Lord?" Lucius whispered.

"Be silent," Voldemort snarled. "Narcissa killed my sister. And put your incompetent son on the throne. He will burn Albion to the ground. I have spent years...years...forging this empire. This will destroy everything. She has no idea what she's done!"

His voice grew louder and louder until he was roaring.

Harry didn't move.

If anything, he took a step closer.

"He told me about you," Harry said, almost in wonder.

McGonagall frowned. "Harry, what are you doing?"

"I will pass my judgment now," Harry decided and he took another step closer, looking at the man. "This is not a hard thing to do. You will live."

There were gasps of protest and shouting.

"What are you doing, boy?" Moody shouted in his ear but, Harry only had eyes for the Dark Lord.

"You are too soft. You won't be able to lead an army. You can't lead this empire. You are not a monster. You give mercy to your greatest enemy," Voldemort spat, angrily.

Harry smiled. "You no longer want what you wanted," Harry decided as he looked over Voldemort. "I should have you killed. I should. You have murdered hundreds of people without remorse, including my parents. You have committed regicide. You have allowed your Death Eaters to destroy and pillage villages with abandon. You are greedy and cruel and selfish."

"I am," Voldemort drawled. "You should have me killed."

"No. I shouldn't and I won't," Harry decided. "Instead, we will talk for a while."

Moody leaned in but McGonagall's hand shot out, pulling the man back. She stared, curious.

"Tell me, Harry Potter. Why do you want this throne?" Voldemort asked.

Harry smiled ruefully.

"I don't," he answered. "But, it is mine. _Kingmaker_."

Voldemort froze. "What do you call me?"

Harry sighed, looking away. "I didn't get a name on my fifteenth annual but I am told that they called me Harry Wildfyre for on the day of my birth, I killed the summer and resurrected it again. But you...he called you Kingmaker. You are my maker."

Voldemort sneered, slowly standing to his feet. The Order members all trained their wands on him and the civilians gasped, jumping back, quietly sobbing at the idea that they might meet Death very soon.

"What would you have of me? And what would I have of you?" Voldemort murmured and he ignored Lucius and Severus' stiffening at his words.

Harry smiled. So, they would play the game together.

"Give me your eternal loyalty and I shall give you mercy," Harry said and Voldemort rolled his eyes and looked away from him.

"I'm not interested in your mercy. It's not enough," Voldemort snarled.

"Perhaps vengeance is better suited to you," Harry suggested and Voldemort looked at him again. Harry smirked.

"I could do that on my own," Voldemort said.

"No you couldn't," Harry barked. Voldemort looked taken aback. "You can't show up to Hogwarts Castle and behead the King-Emperor's mother without evidence. You weren't there. You can't single-handedly beat all of the Houses loyal to the crown. Narcissa killed your sister, my Lord. She broke that sacred, unspoken bond. Blood is important to you Slytherins. Her head won't sate the rage alone. You want everything."

Voldemort watched him, as if impressed. "Yes."

"We talked about wants and needs today. I need someone who has information on the inside. I need someone who has access. Someone who can influence the king and his mother without any sign that it is me ordering it. I need you to teach me. Teach me to rule. Teach me to fight. Teach me to be a king, Kingmaker," Harry suggested.

The Order members shifted, gasping and whispering. The civilians moved, nervously, not understanding what was being proposed. Harry prayed to the gods that Tonks wouldn't be angry or betrayed. Harry needed someone to teach him. _Kill the boy_. Moody and his little sect seemed opposed to him learning anything. Voldemort wouldn't be.

"You told me you didn't want to be king," Voldemort drawled.

"You asked why I wanted this empire. I would say duty," Harry said. "But, I was born into my family for a reason. Divine right. It is mine, and I will claim it with or without your help."

Voldemort took a step closer and Ron inhaled sharply, pulling forth his ax.

"What makes you different from me? After all, everybody wants to rule the world," Voldemort challenged.

"I want to make this world a better place. I want to fix the ugliness that you have created. I will forge this empire with my blood. But, if I have to use ugliness to make this empire better, I will. So, Lord Voldemort, vengeance and mercy for a crown?" Harry asked.

Voldemort hummed, smirking. "I could kill you six different ways right now, Prince Harry, and I don't have my wand. The ceremonial knife is in this cage. It knows the taste of your blood. I could easily carve your heart out. I could've slaughtered everyone in this camp by now. But, I didn't. Because you interest me. So, sweeten the deal for me," Voldemort said.

Harry swallowed, looking around. These were his people and he would give anything for his people.

"What is it that you want, Lord Voldemort?" Harry asked.

Voldemort's eyes brightened and he smiled.

"Your innocence, sweetling."

The implications of those words struck him. Harry stopped when he felt McGonagall's hand on his shoulder. He looked at the older witch. She had trusted him with this, had allowed him to continue even when Moody had expressed his doubt.

"No...Harry…" she began.

She'd have to trust him with this too.

"Give me vengeance and your innocence and I shall give you a throne," Voldemort repeated. "I will make you, my King."

Harry jerked free of her hand and strode forward, offering his hand. Voldemort grabbed it and smirked.

"And you shall be unmade, Kingmaker. _Done_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter. It was really fun to write and rework. A lot of the wording and proceedings are different from the last time I wrote this chapter. It's heavily revised to reflect the darker nature of the story as a whole. It was fun.
> 
> Next Chapter: Should be out in a day or two. It's nearly complete. Just...smut is hard to write. At least, good smut.
> 
> EDIT: I've just written the smut. It's 4000 words long out of what was supposed to be a 7000 word chapter. Now, it is much longer than that. This is a lot.


	11. Chapter Ten

Harry had wanted to be in the room. He deserved to be in the room.

He wasn't sure if he liked being in the room when everyone was yelling at each other about him, barely paying him any mind. McGonagall sat directly to his left, Moody next to her, and Tonks had sat on his right. Tonks was shouting down Moody, calling him 'an old man too stuck in his ways', and Moody was implying something about Tonks being a common whore before they found her. Remus didn't take too kindly to that, growling, and then Tonks turned on Remus, shouting that she could fight her own battles.

Marlene McKinnon was fighting furiously with Percy Weasley about the records. Emmeline Vance was wringing her hands, attempting to make herself clear while Ron was raging at her, practically yelling at her. Sturgis Podmore was muttering furiously to Fendwick and Caradoc Dearborn, the old man, looked like he was ready to keel over from old age.

Nearly everyone carried on, arguing about the men locked away in the cage in front of the Burrow II. Fred and Charlie were in the infirmary, being treated for flesh wounds by Madame Pomfrey. Kingsley, Bill, and George were guarding the men downstairs, probably casting more and more wards. Harry knew Bill was a curse breaker, of sorts, able to use Arithmancy to lay wards; he was good with numbers. If anyone could find an unbreakable ward, it was Bill.

"STOP YELLING!"

Harry looked up from the table, staring at Ginny. She was breathing hard, her face bright red with irritation. Slowly, she settled back into her seat, glaring daggers at the lot of them.

"You're all yelling at each other," Ginny said, much quieter than before.

"She's right!" Ron roared, slamming his fist onto the table. Emmeline Vance jumped. "You're yelling at each other like it's each other's fault."

Harry's lips curled into a slight smile as he heard the unspoken accusation in Ron's words.

"But, it's  _my_ fault, yes?" he asked, voice soft.

Ron shrugged. "Your words. Not mine."

Harry stood, suddenly, slamming his hands on the table. His eyes narrowed on Ron. The Order members—even Mad Eye-Moody—seemed surprised by his sudden aggression.

"I'd like to make a few things clear," Harry began. "I am not a whore. If I hear the word 'whore' used as an insult, one more time at this table, in reference to  _anyone,_ I'll have you scrubbing bedpans in the Camp Infirmary."

"A whore is a reputable career?" Moody barked.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "It's an insult to the men and women who aren't afraid to do what they must to survive," Harry barked and he looked around the table. "I passed my judgment. I know what I'm doing. Don't question it."

Moody snorted, shaking his head.

"Boy, we've been fighting against the Dark Lord for years. Constant  _vigilance_ for years, fighting to  _survive_. If you think spreading your legs for him will make him—" Moody debated.

He stopped as Harry looked up, his wand pointed at Moody's scarred nose.

"Constant vigilance, eh?" Harry hissed. "Should've noticed I was pulling my wand on you."

Harry stiffened when he felt a hand close around his wrist. Harry looked down at the hand before looking up at the owner. Remus stared at him with serious amber eyes. Harry raised his eyebrows in anticipation and he pursed his lips, waiting for what Remus had to say. The man's brows were heavy with doubt.

"Harry...I think you made the wrong decision."

"I know what I'm doing," Harry repeated. "We struck a deal and I'm not going to break it. I need a way to make sure that he doesn't break the deal either. I need a magical oath. A serious one. One that he won't ever risk breaking."

McGonagall and Remus exchanged hopeless looks and Moody groaned, falling back in his chair. He turned, muttering into Fendwick's ear. Probably cursing Harry's name. McGonagall turned fully towards Harry.

"Your Highness...Harry...this isn't wise," McGonagall said, softly. "He is the Dark Lord. He is a Slytherin. He is cunning. If you are to be king, you must make—"

"It's not wise!" Harry shouted, exasperated. "But, I'll do what I have to do. He is called  _Kingmaker_ for a reason. The Seer named him that just as I was named Harry Wildfyre. And I know that's what you call me so, you can't say that his name isn't true either. He has created an empire. I don't see that ascribed to any of  _you_."

Ron growled, looking angrier than ever.

"You can't do this!" Ron shouted. "You can't whore yourself out! You're  _our_  prince! We already caught you kissing him and now you're going to  _fuck_ him? Are you that  _desperate_ for cock?"

There was a quiet swell of noise, leading to another uproar. Harry was sure that they had already known. But, it had probably been whispered like rumors. If Ron was shouting it, it must be true, they probably thought. Harry took a deep breath, blood high in his cheeks.

"It's funny. Your sister said the same thing," Harry said, coldly.

Ginny flushed, looking down, embarrassed. So, perhaps Ron was just repeating what his sister had already said. Harry knew that the Weasleys weren't intentionally being malicious, not at all; they were angry, and rightfully so. But, still, it hurt.

"Harry…" Ginny started, an apology already in the way her lips curved.

"You don't know me, Ron Weasley," Harry interrupted. "You don't know a damn  _thing_ about me. Everyone likes pretty things. Men and women think they're  _entitled_ to me because of how I look. But, I do not belong to you. I don't belong to  _any_ of you. My body is not yours to dictate. You belong to  _me_. You are  _my_ people."

"I...I didn't…" Ron stammered.

Harry held up his hand, silencing him and he collapsed into his seat, forcing himself not to bury his face in hands. The Order was silent, shell-shocked by his words. Slowly, Harry looked at the only person that he could stomach at the moment. Tonks was watching him, something like pride in her eyes.

"An Unbreakable Vow," she said.

Harry leaned forward in his seat.

"What's that?" he asked, softly.

"Nothing, your Highness," Fendwick said, and he shot Tonks a fearsome look.

Tonks bared her teeth back but, her eyes carefully went blank. She was trying to hide something from Harry. Harry was reminded quickly that no matter what her last name was, she would  _always_ be a Slytherin by blood. She was more like her uncle than she thought.

"The Unbreakable Vow is a magical oath. You need a bonder to harness the spell. He swears by magic, all of the terms that were discussed tonight," Tonks said, sharply.

Harry nodded. "The consequences?"

"Breaking the Vow is punishable by death."

Harry reached and grabbed Tonks' hand. Tonks looked up at him and he was struck by the betrayal and  _understanding_ within her eyes. She stood without him asking and they walked towards the door, hand in hand. Harry stood by the door and looked around at the Order.

"Your Highness…" Percy Weasley began. He flushed from Harry's attention. "Are you truly going through with this?"

"I am your prince. A prince does not rule, I've learned. I've learned that from just...watching this empire deteriorate. I think a prince serves. I will serve you all," Harry said. He looked around. "Meeting adjourned."

He walked from the room, Tonks at his side. They said nothing as they walked towards his room. They passed Tonks' room. Teddy was probably in there with Lavender Brown, by now. It was long past midnight.

They turned into Harry's bedroom, and Tonks slammed the door closed. She pulled her wand from the depths of her red cloak.

" _Muffliato_ ," she murmured. Harry jerked when his ears were suddenly filled with the quieting buzzing of bees. Tonks held out her hand. "It's a privacy spell. A bit like the wards that surround the camp."

Harry nodded in understanding. He looked over at Tonks with a helpless expression. Tonks looked almost indifferent. He watched as her pink hair drained to a mousy brown and grew limply to her shoulders.

"Tonks...I'm so,  _so_  sorry," Harry whispered.

Tonks turned away, her shoulders shaking slightly. Harry swallowed hard. Tonks was trying not to cry, and she didn't want him to see her in a moment of weakness. She pressed her palms to her eyes, swallowing.

"Harry…I can…I understand," Tonks whispered.

Harry swallowed. "Do you?" he asked, barely above a whispered.

Tonks spun to face him. He was relieved that she was not weeping. Angry tears were in her eyes but, she was not crying.

"Harry…I fuck people for information! Of course, I understand. And you defended me in there. I understand what you're doing. But, that doesn't mean I have to  _like_ it," Tonks cried out.

Harry swallowed, nodding.

"I know, I know. Tonks, I'm sorry...your uncle…"

"That  _man_ isn't just my uncle. He's a murderer and an arsonist. He's a sadist and he's cruel. Are you going to let  _that_ kind of man  _fuck_ you? I've had sex with selfish, gluttonous, greedy men but, Voldemort...Voldemort is a  _bad man._  He's going to  _hurt_ you," Tonks shouted, trembling and Harry's eyes widened.

She was afraid that he was going to be hurt. It made his heart swell with love and respect. This woman had been the only one that had looked past the political implications of his deal and had been worried for his actual well-being.

"I love you so much," Harry whispered. "You're what I thought have an older sibling might be like."

Tonks' breath caught in her throat. "Oh, Harry."

"But...Voldemort knows a lot. He knows people and I genuinely believe that he will help us win. And I will do what my people need. No matter the cost."

* * *

 

**MIRROR**

* * *

 

"I'm tied to a post."

"My wife is a power-hungry bitch."

"We were bested by children."

"My  _son_ is the king, gods help us all."

Crimson eyes narrowed and the Dark Lord glowered at his lieutenants.

"When did this become confession hour?"

Severus refrained from commenting on his Lord's hostility. The man had just learned about his twin sister's murder. He was entitled to his rage. As long as his feelings dissipated before they traveled home, he would be fine. If they didn't, it would be unpleasant. The Dark Lord would look for someone to torture and if they didn't happen upon any unsuspecting Muggles, Lucius and he would have to do.

"We were only stating the obvious," Lucius said, calmly. He winced at the Dark Lord's dangerous hiss of warning.

Lucius craned his neck to look at his Lord. The powerful man had allowed himself to be tied to the post again, this time with enchanted chains. All in good faith, the Dark Lord had said. Lucius had no doubt that his Lord could escape quite easily.

Instead, he stared up at the moon in silence. The Malfoy Lord wondered if he was mourning the death of his sister.

"Why are we still here? We could've escaped by now," Lucius declared.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed.

"We aren't escaping. Would you like to be one of the first to die in this war?" Severus snarled before his Lord could respond. "That boy in there couldn't beat Bellatrix but, Draco, easily. He will destroy this empire and he will destroy us. Your son is a  _menace_."

Lucius sighed, tipping his head back against the post. Lucius had long known that his wife was jealous of Bellatrix but, he'd never thought her capable of killing her own sister. Blood was blood and you never harmed blood.

"Aye, he is," Lucius murmured.

His son was spoiled. Rotten like old milk and knew far too little and had far too much power.

"My Lord, are you sure about this?" Severus asked, daring. Lucius hummed. Only Severus could get away with questioning their Lord.

"What?" Voldemort said, his lips curling back.

"You have the Death Eaters at your disposal. We could take control from Narcissa's brat and put you on the throne. It is the safer option," Severus said, immediately, earnestly.

Voldemort hummed. "Being on the throne severely limits a person's power if they aren't absolutely beloved. There is no love lost between the people and me, Severus. This is the way," he said.

"You really think the boy won't go back on his word?" Severus asked doubtfully.

"I don't break my promises."

Lucius and Severus jerked, bewildered by how quietly Harry Potter had moved. Voldemort looked unsurprised. Harry glanced at the pink-haired woman and she pulled her red cloak tighter around her, moving her wand in an intricate way, opening the cage door. She pulled it open for Harry and he entered.

"You didn't eat," Harry said, his voice soft. He settled on his knees in front of the three men and smiled.

Severus was struck by how beautiful Harry Potter was. His image within the Pensive hadn't done him justice. This boy was lean and moved with a grace that Severus had never seen. He was  _dangerous_.

Harry broke the bread into three even pieces and offered them to Severus and Lucius. The two Death Eaters had been bound with their arms by their sides instead of behind the post as the Dark Lord had been bound. Severus and Lucius had to twist and control but they ravenously bit into the bread.

"Will you feed me?" Voldemort taunted.

Harry sneered and stuffed the bread into Voldemort's mouth.

"There. Fed. Like a  _dog_ ," Harry said. He turned his gaze onto Lucius and Severus, his eyes softening. "Would you like water?"

"Please," Severus said as he swallowed the dry bread.

Harry looked back at the pink-haired woman. Her gaze was still hard and she looked anywhere but at the Dark Lord. She reached out of her cloak, offering a flask of water. Harry took it and pressed it to Severus' lips. He drank greedily, his pallid face gaining some color back. Severus looked at Harry.  _James Potter's_  son had just fed him food and water. Food and water to  _prisoners_ , at that. This boy was  _dangerous_. He was kind to his prisoners and he was hard with his army. For the first time, Severus could see what their Lord might be able to make him into.

"Thanks for the food, sweet—"

Harry stuffed the flask into Voldemort's mouth and hissed, "Have some water. Asshole."

Harry pulled the flask out and glared. Voldemort smirked. He turned to Lucius, offering him some water. Severus frowned.

Harry Potter wasn't like his father.

"You're not like your father."

The words slipped before Severus could stop them. Voldemort and Lucius glared at him. Severus had never  _voiced_ his observations so matter-of-factly to anyone but his Lord. But, in this boy's presence, his tongue had loosened. Harry Potter's lips curled into a rueful smile.

"I never knew him," Harry said. He stopped and looked over his shoulder and held the flash out to the woman. "Tonks...I know you're uncomfortable. Just go."

Tonks, and what an odd name, snatched the flash and with one last look at Voldemort stormed from the cage. She did the complicated ward charms again and flicked her wand, adding something more.

"One more leaves. It better be you. Lavender and Ted are in my room," Tonks said, voice hard.

"We can sleep in my room," Harry said. "I'll be up soon."

Tonks nodded once and stormed away. Severus' eyes followed her. Voldemort smirked at her and when he turned back to Harry, Harry was glaring. Voldemort swallowed, wondering what it would feel like to have this beautiful boy on his back, glaring up at him.

He was probably tight and definitely burned hotter than anyone Voldemort had ever had.

"So, you want to be King?" Voldemort asked.

Harry crossed his legs, leaning back on his hands.

"You know I do," Harry said instead.

"There is something you must learn to fully understand what it means to be King," Voldemort murmured as he looked at the boy. He admired how his face looked bathed in the light from the fire that danced between his fingers.

"And what is that, Kingmaker?" Harry murmured as he played with the fire, enamored with the light of the dancing flames that he had inherited from his mother.

Voldemort tilted his head. Harry  _breathed_ with unspoken grace, but a grace that belonged to a battlefield. It wouldn't translate well to the dance floor. Harry would be a warrior king.

"The power that you inherit will isolate you," Voldemort said shortly. Harry's lips twitched into a half-smile as he continued to play with the flames.

"I'm sure it will."

Voldemort shook his head. "No. You don't understand," Voldemort said sharply. "All beings wish to believe in something greater than they are. They want to be reassured that there is something or someone that can make a mistake greater than their own. They want to do as they wish, and so, they put that blind trust into someone greater.  _That_ is how gods are made. How monsters are born."

Harry finally looked up at Voldemort, his smile gone. His green eyes narrowed as he stared at him. For a moment, he looked so much like Helena that it hurt. Voldemort faltered. When he looked at Harry again, he looked nothing like the fifteen-year-old girl that he had murdered.

"I'm not trying to be a god or a monster."

"No. You're trying to be both. And that is how this power will isolate you. A king has no friends. Only subject and foe," Voldemort said sharply. Harry looked at Lucius and Severus. The two men were staring straight ahead. Harry smiled.

"Are you not my friend, Lord Voldemort?"

Voldemort frowned. "No. I am not."

"No," Harry agreed. "You're so much more. I would see you undone, Voldemort."

There was something eerie about the boy. He was just like his mother in that their eyes spoke of someone years older. Someone that had suffered. Harry Potter had many faces. In the dark, this was one of them—mysterious and cold. Underneath it all, Voldemort could see Harry. A scared little boy-prince without a crown.

"If I had a choice, I would see you dead," Voldemort retorted.

Harry gave a breathy laugh, standing to his feet. As he walked away, he tossed over his shoulder, "And yet, I shall see you undone first."

* * *

 

**MIRROR**

* * *

 

Harry waited. Tonks stood by his side, Ron on his other. Ron had attempted to apologize for his comments the night before but one look from Tonks had silenced him. Harry would let him stew for a bit. Ron's words still stung.

The Order meeting room was deserted but for the trio and Bill and a newly healed Charlie that waited in the corners. This ceremony was not for prying eyes. The children were outside still, peeking behind tents and corners at the three fearsome men looked away in the cage of wood and iron. People were curious and after the deal struck yesterday, even more so. But, this wasn't for their eyes. This was war.

"Good morning, sweetling."

Harry's eyes narrowed as Ginny, McGonagall, and Moody stalked into the room, heavily guarding their dangerous prisoner. Voldemort looked a little worse for wear, covered in dirt, stubble marking his chin and cheeks. He had not slept. Harry knew because he hadn't slept either. Instead, he'd sat by the window and stared into the cage as Tonks slept in his bed.

"Good morning, Voldemort," Harry said, voice low.

Voldemort smirked as if he had just won something. Harry supposed that he had. Voldemort would be getting everything he wanted. Vengeance, his life, and into Harry's pants.

Ginny pushed Voldemort in between his shoulder blades. Voldemort strode forward, his hands bound in front of him now. Ron immediately stepped in front of Harry as the Dark Lord approached as if he couldn't help it. Voldemort came to a stop, an eyebrow raised.

"You'll forgive me if I ask you to step out of the way, Weasley," Voldemort drawled.

Ron growled low in his throat as he stepped to the side again.

"Let's review the terms," Moody said, gruffly. He limped forward and crossed his arms, watching between Voldemort and Harry, suspiciously. "You will be our spy. You will directly report to the Order. You will follow orders. You will instruct the Prince in political affairs and magical learning. In exchange, you will receive mercy and the Prince's...virginity. Non-compliance is not an option. Is this agreed upon?"

Voldemort stared at Moody for a long time, eyebrow raised. He looked down at Harry and snorted. It was so undignified that it shocked a laugh out of the Prince of Gryffindor.

"What?" Harry asked.

"I'm not making deals with Alastor Moody. I'm making a deal with you. Why does he speak for you?" Voldemort asked. Moody colored, blood rushing splotchy to his scarred face.

"He doesn't," Harry said, swiftly ignoring Moody. He could practically feel Tonks' satisfaction radiating off of the woman.

Voldemort took a step closer to Harry until they were only inches apart. Harry craned his neck to look into the man's face. The man was a good foot taller than him. It was a little disconcerting.

"Then. What are  _your_ terms?" Voldemort asked, his voice soft.

Harry cleared his throat. "You will be  _my_ spy. You will directly report to  _me_. You will follow  _my_ orders. You will instruct me in political and economic affairs and magical learning. In exchange, you will receive mercy, vengeance, and my virginity. Non-compliance is not an option. Anything else?"

"Protection for Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape and the rest of my Death Eaters. Effective upon the moment we finish this deal," Voldemort said immediately.

Harry's eyebrows rose. He tried to read the Dark Lord's face but, Voldemort just stared at him with crimson eyes, undecipherable.

"Your Death Eaters have committed terrible crimes," Harry said.

"But, they are mine," Voldemort said, sharply.

Harry hummed and looked over at Ginny. Ginny was ashen. Harry remembered what she had said about Travers and Dolohov. Harry cleared his throat and looked back at Voldemort.

"No," he decided.

The Order members relaxed.

"Then, I think we're finished here," Voldemort said, jerking against the magical chains.

"No, we're not," Harry corrected. "Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy have immediate pardon. Upon your performance, we'll further discuss the remainder of your Death Eaters on a case by case basis. I am liable to say that I will most likely execute Dolohov and Travers on sight. Are we in accord?"

The words felt awkward in his mouth. He felt just like what Ollivander called him. A boy without a crown.

Voldemort stared at him for a long time. Harry stared in wonder. Harry couldn't read the man at all. He was in perfect control of himself. This was the Kingmaker. He would teach Harry how to do that. How to be in control. Harry thought he was already learning from the man.

"Aye," Voldemort decided. He cleared his throat. "Who will be our Bonder? Perhaps, my lovely ni—"

Harry's knee jerked up into the other man's groin with such punishing effort that Voldemort stumbled into the table, his chains clanking. His face went ashen. Harry winced in sympathy but maintained his composure otherwise. Tonks' lips curled into a wide and vindictive grin. Ginny's lips cracked into a smile and McGonagall, wordless and stern, had an approving glint in her eyes.

"Oh…  _oh_ … that was…" Voldemort grunted, his eyes closed as he tried to compose himself again.

When he opened his eyes again, fury burned in his eyes. Harry rolled his shoulders back and smirked.

"I don't regret that," Harry said, holding his head high.

Voldemort hissed. "Pick the fucking Bonder."

Harry turned to nod at McGonagall when a fist collided with the side of his face. Harry stumbled to the side, his lip dripping blood and he stared, wide-eyed at Voldemort. The man didn't even look like he had moved. The Dark Lord's teeth were bared.

"What the  _fuck_?" Ron snarled, taking a step forward.

"First lesson, sweetling: don't look away from the enemy. It's how you get killed. You watch. Until they make a mistake. Have I made a mistake yet?" Voldemort asked.

Harry's cheeks flooded with humiliation and he took a step forward, his fingers fisting in Voldemort's jerkin, pulling him forward.

" _Yes_ ," he snarled. "Don't  _fuck_  with the people I care about. Madame McGonagall."

McGonagall stepped forward and Harry held out his hand to Voldemort. Voldemort took Harry's hand between his own and brought it up, brushing a kiss to Harry's knuckles. Harry rolled his eyes and glared at the man.

"Do you remember what we spoke about this morning?" Tonks hissed in Harry's ear. Harry nodded before turning to McGonagall. The Leader of the Rebellion drew her wand pressing the tip to their joined hands.

"Will you, Lord Voldemort of House Slytherin, instruct me in the political affairs and economic workings of the Albion Empire and the world to the best of your ability?" Harry asked.

"I will."

A fiery flare of white magic shot out of McGonagall's wand and wrapped around Voldemort and Harry's hands. It squeezed their palms closer together. Harry swallowed hard.

"Will you, Lord Voldemort of House Slytherin, instruct me in the ways of magic and war to the best of your ability?" Harry demanded.

"I will."

Another rope of magic bound them together.

"Will you, Lord Voldemort of House Slytherin, be loyal to my cause, obeying and guiding me, Kingmaker to his King, swearing never to betray me, in perpetuity?"

"I will."

A rope of light.

Harry's hand tightened in Voldemort's and Voldemort took another step closer, his eyes serious.

"And will  _you_ , Prince Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, swear vengeance, mercy, and your virginity to me in exchange for my undying loyalty and all the knowledge and power that I possess to your war table?" Voldemort asked, solemnly.

Harry watched him, scrutinizing, waiting for the trick. The Dark Lord was a man but, he was a very old man that had lived far too long with all the Dark magic coursing through him. This was a man that had forged an empire through sheer will and blood.

"I will," Harry rasped.

The last rope burned around them and the ropes fused together, burning a bright red for a moment before it dissipated into the air, sparks floating around the room. Harry didn't let go of Voldemort. He stared up at the man and swallowed. Voldemort stared back, calmly.

"Is there someone wrong with my face?" Voldemort deadpanned. Harry flushed but still didn't release Voldemort's hands to the disturbance of the witnesses.

"I...no. There's nothing wrong with...your face."

Voldemort smirked. "If there's nothing wrong, could you possibly release my hand from your custody?"

Harry's cheeks grew even redder and he dropped Voldemort's hand. He turned away. Moody looked like he had indigestion. The Weasleys were red and Tonks looked too hostile. Only McGonagall looked pleased. She leaned in, whispering.

"You did well, your Highness," she rasped, so low that only Harry could hear. Harry's lips quirked into a smile. McGonagall turned back to Voldemort, eyes cold. "Ronald, Ginevra, William, and Charles. Escort Lord Voldemort back to his...accommodations."

The Weasleys moved immediately, Bill and Charlie flanking the Dark Lord. Ron and Ginny followed after them.

"Could you...make sure he bathes before he shows up in my room later? If you could that, that'd be great," Harry drawled, awkwardly. Ron sputtered and Bill and Charlie smothered their snorts of incredulous laughter.

Tonks snorted. "I'll take care of it." She turned to McGonagall and Moody. "I'd like to speak with the Dark Lord. If that's okay, Madame."

Moody frowned, shaking his head. "That won't be—"

"Nymphadora."

The room chilled. Tonks slowly looked to Voldemort and he stared back at her, crimson eyes half-hooded.

"He knows your name," Charlie frowned.

Tonks didn't look away from Voldemort. "Don't call me Nymphadora," she said, voice cold. "Only my mother called me that."

"Nymphadora," Voldemort repeated as if daring her to talk back again. Tonks cleared her throat and lifted her chin. "We will speak."

"Tonks…" Harry said, full of warning.

"What does this concern?" McGonagall asked, voice hard.

Voldemort lifted his chin. "Family affairs. Nymphadora, sit down. Will the Prince allow me to speak with her?"

Everyone was looking at Harry again. Harry cleared his throat and looked at Tonks. She pulled out a chair and sat down, gesturing to the one opposite her. Voldemort sat down, staring at her, resting his chin on bound hands.

"Madame," Harry said. McGonagall sighed, heavily, and even as Moody muttered under his breath. "We'll leave. Weasleys stands outside the door. When she knocks, escort Lord Voldemort to a bath. Tonks, come to my room afterward."

"Yes, your Highness," Tonks said, firmly.

The Weasleys all murmured to each other but, Harry ignored them, sweeping from the room, McGonagall on his heels.

Tonks stared at her friend and she waited as Moody limped out with Fendwick following after him. The Weasleys were the last to leave. Ginny and Charlie stopped in the doorway.

"You seriously want us to leave you with  _him_?" Ginny demanded.

"He's bound. What can he do to me?" Tonks drawled, leaning back in her chair. She looked at Voldemort and he smirked at her. Tonks' lips twitched.

"A hell of a lot. He calls you 'Nymphadora', Tonks," Charlie hissed. "Remus, won't be happy about this."

"Remus will mind his fucking business because he won't be finding out, now will he?" Tonks retorted, crossing her arms over her chest. She glared at Charlie with such vitriol he flinched. Tonks made herself relax and she smiled at one of her oldest friends.

"We'll be right outside the door," Ginny insisted.

Tonks nodded, warily and the door shut closed. Tonks raised her wand, slowly casting layers of protective charms. The Muffling Charm, the secrecy wards, Dark magic detecting. She relaxed in her chair as the final bright purple spell erupted for her wand, exploding into little lavender sparks, showering down around them. Voldemort hadn't flinched.

"Voldemort—" Tonks began.

Voldemort hummed. "I'm sorry, who?"

"That's your name," Tonks retorted.

"To you? I'm not so sure," Voldemort demanded.

Tonks crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. Gruffly, she said, "Uncle."

"Niece."

They regarded one another and Voldemort watched as her pink hair melted away, lengthening to her shoulders, turning a mousy brown. It was only a few shades lighter than Andromeda's but, their hair curled in the same way.

"You're very much like your mother," Voldemort said, solemnly.

Tonks stiffened in her chair. "I'm not here to discuss my mother," Tonks said, voice sharp.

"Then what are we discussing, Nymphadora?" Voldemort drawled.

Tonks burned, and she winced as her hair turned bright red, giving her away. Voldemort leaned back in his seat, smug. She had lost control and she hadn't done that since control had been beaten into her as a little girl. Tonks tugged the bright red cloak tighter around her.

" _Don't_ call me...never mind," Tonks hissed, letting out a long breath. Her hair slowly darkened to brown again. "I'm just warning you. If you hurt Harry tonight, I will  _end_ you."

Voldemort sneered. "It is not in my best interest to hurt the Prince of Gryffindor. I am loyal to him. In perpetuity. Do you know what that means?"

Tonks barked a terrible laugh. "Forever."

"Yes, forever," Voldemort snarled back.

Tonks sat back in her chair and frowned. Her rage drowned out of her and she sighed, her bones aching in her skin.

"Tell me...what happened that night," Tonks whispered.

Voldemort frowned. "We're not here to discuss your mother."

Her words sounded sour, repeated back to her.

"I know. Tell me what happened to my father," Tonks snarled.

She looked at this man that Harry  _wanted_  because, no matter what he said, Tonks knew lust when she saw it. She saw that Harry had never wanted a thing in his life, or never knew how to ask for anything, and of anything and anyone, he wanted this man. This man when he could have any man in the entire world.

They sat in silence, Voldemort staring at her. Tonks sighed and shook her head. She stood from her chair, scraping the legs against the ground.

As she went towards the door, he said, "Your mother ran away three times. I dragged her back each time. The last time...she found your father. Lily was… I suppose eleven. When you were born. My father was unhappy with your mother leaving. She married below her station. A Mudblood. He was quite unhappy. As was I. They sent me to find her. And when I did find, I was angry. An heiress of Slytherin...marrying a  _Mudblood._ "

Tonks' eyes narrowed. "Your future queen is a Mudblood, I hear."

Voldemort laughed humorlessly.

"The Lady Granger. An uninteresting girl that quickly  _became_ interesting with a single letter," Voldemort said, softly, and there was something appreciative about his tone.

"What happened next?" Tonks demanded.

"I found your mother and I confronted her about you. You were only two. Your hair was the same alarming shade of pink as it is now," Voldemort said. "Your mother claimed to love your father. She said that she didn't want to be involved in Bellatrix and my machinations. She was done with our lifestyle. But, I reminded her. Of the vows."

Tonks' hair brightened to pink as he spoke and she leaned forward, intrigued.

"What vow?"

"The words of our house. Family. We don't ever betray family. We honor the blood. Blood is  _everything_. And I saw her leaving as a betrayal of  _everything_. And so, I murdered her husband. She screamed and cried for me to spare him. I ignored her. I made her think I killed  _you_  before I dragged her away and made her watch the cottage she had been living in for the past year burn down," Voldemort said, so cold that Tonks shivered and pulled her red cloak tighter around her body.

She bit her lower lip.

"And me? Why didn't you kill me?" Tonks prompted.

Voldemort leaned forward.

" _You_ didn't betray the blood. You are a Slytherin. You are family. You are my sister's child. Blood of my blood."

* * *

 

**ON THE WALL**

* * *

 

"A council meeting. Do you think I'm expected to say anything?" Hermione asked.

Luna looked at her lady with a dreamy glint to her eyes. "I know a lot, my Lady, but I could never claim to know what goes through the King's mind."

Hermione scowled. Luna looked away, pleased with herself. Hermione let out a long sigh. There were many things she  _wanted_ to say to Draco. She wanted to let him know that he was cruel and cowardly. She wanted him to know that he was an awful bastard that she wished to hell.

But, without a wand, any of those words would be a death sentence.

Unless the Dark Lord had gotten her letter.

"Do you think Voldemort received the falcon?"

Luna nodded. "I do."

"How can you be so sure? He would've come back the second he'd heard it," Hermione questioned.

Luna's lips curled into a smile and she squeezed Hermione's hand reassuringly as they moved down the Gargoyle Corridor. Hermione frowned when they stopped in front of one gargoyle that seemed to have a life of its own, grunting and growling at them.

"I can't be sure. You don't always need to  _know_ , Hermione. I do not know if the Crumple-Horned Snorkack is native to Albion or only to the City-States but, I  _believe_ ," Luna said, voice soft.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Do you  _believe_ we'll ever find the council room?"

"We have," Luna said as the gargoyle jumped aside. "We needed a password. But, since we don't have one. Someone will let us in."

That someone stared at them, a guarded look on his face. He was a tall, imposing man with dark brown hair and a long scar running from his right temple, over his eyes, and to his jaw. His right eye was milky, blindness clouding his sight forever. He might've been handsome if it weren't for the scar. His chainmail and black robes clued Hermione in. Death Eater.

"Lord Lestrange," Luna said, curtseying. The man looked at her for a long moment, too long, before he looked to Hermione. He bowed to her.

"Lady Granger," he said, with a voice that was rough, nearly a growl.

Hermione curtseyed. "Lord Lestrange."

He turned sharply and walked up the stairs that presumably led to the council room. Luna was staring at the man, a curious look in her eyes.

"Who is that?" Hermione whispered as they linked arms and walked up the long spiral staircase.

"That is Lord Rodolphus of House Lestrange. He is Rabastan Lestrange's older brother. They are both Death Eaters. Rodolphus was once betrothed to Bellatrix but, when she took the throne, she broke the engagement," Luna murmured and Hermione nodded. She touched her right temple, tracing down a rough pattern of Rodolphus' scar.

"And the scar?"

Luna looked away. "A souvenir from the deathless."

Luna turned away and sped up the stairs, pulling away from Hermione. Hermione's eyes narrowed on the young woman's back. Luna had something to do with that scar. Hermione pursed her lips and told herself that she would get to the bottom of  _that_  soon enough. If she had to do through pure snooping, she would.

"This way, Lady Granger," Lord Rodolphus called.

Hermione hurried up the stairs and emerged into the room. She stared, wide-eyed at the circular room. It was the most wonderful room Hermione had ever seen in her life.

It was enormous, divided into three large areas and two sets of stairs that led up to a loft. The first area of the office was filled with moving portraits of battles. She saw the battles against the Tabooed. The closest portrait had to be a painting of what had to be Morgin on the back of a fire-breathing dragon, facing against Queen Helga in the West, Afallon. There were more portraits but they were farther down. The second area was a large dais that dominated the room, a crescent-shaped table on top of it. In the middle was a large floating map, House sigils marking strongholds and loyalties.

The third area, deeper into the room was a sitting area.

Hermione focused on the council.

Draco sat dead center, the golden crown on his head. The seat on his right was open, presumably for Hermione. Rodolphus Lestrange sat next to the empty seat. Sitting to Rodolphus' left was Hermione's step brother, smirking at her with his bright green eyes. Then, next to him was Antonin Dolohov. She left the executions with his face seared into her mind. He smiled lasciviously at her. Hermione cringed.

On Draco's other side was Narcissa. Next to her was Walden MacNair and then a boy, barely a man, that Hermione recognized as Vincent Crabbe.

"Your Grace," Hermione said, tonelessly as she swept into a low curtsey.

Draco gave her a cruel smile.

"By my side, my love," Draco commanded.

Hermione moved immediately, climbing the steps to the dais. She felt a hand wrap around her wrist and she looked down at Narcissa. Hermione mustered a weak smile. Narcissa's smile was cold.

"Thank you for inviting me, your Grace," Hermione said, softly.

"There are no empty seats at the council table. You are a filler for my brother," Narcissa said, coldly. Hermione flushed. Narcissa looked around the table, and then her eyes softened as she looked at her boy. "Shall we begin, your Grace?"

"Yes, Mother," Draco decided. "I call my first council meeting as King into order."

There was a sound: the toll of a bell. Hermione felt the magic wash over her and she relaxed into her chair, wide-eyed. Lord Rodolphus leaned forward, a strange look on his face.

"Your Grace, your soon to be lady-wife is not the only one standing here as a placeholder, correct?" Lord Rodolphus asked, a sharpness in his eye, on his tongue.

The young king looked up, looking at his mother and then looking at the rest of the table.

"I am the King. I must surround myself with people that share my vision. My father has not fought in the army for many years, having been at my uncle's side. Severus Snape is a baseborn man that held far too much power. I have named Antonin Dolohov as Commander of the Cavalry and the Lord of Whispers is now my most-trusted comrade, Blaise Zabini. Do you take issue with your king's decisions, Lord Rodolphus?" Draco rattled off as if he were reading from a script.

Lord Rodolphus paused for just a moment, looking from Antonin Dolohov to Hermione's step-brother.

"Can I assume that the Dark Lord remains Chancellor, your Grace?" Lord Rodolphus drawled.

"For now," Draco said.

Narcissa pressed her hand over her son's and smiled. "Absolutely, Lord Rodolphus. My brother knows the law of this land better than anybody. I daresay no one can replace him."

Lord Rodolphus looked between the two for a long moment before he relaxed in his chair, nodding. Hermione swallowed hard. So, the Dark Lord was Chancellor. That made him presider of Justice. It made him second-in-command in the kingdom and no one knew it. That was how he had stayed nearly blameless for years.

"Your Grace, what is the first task that we attend to?" Lord MacNair asked, his hands clasped on the table.

Draco looked at his mother  _again_. Narcissa inclined her head and Hermione watched with narrowed eyes. Draco was asking for permission, deferring to his mother like the boy that he truly was. The boy king needed his mother to lead him.

"The coffers of Hogwarts Castle are filled and our debts with Gringotts are settled. However, as the civil war brews, I have decided that we should begin to build a war fund. We will instate a tax upon the people. For nearly two decades, we have made life easy for them. We have prospered. Our taxes have been low. But, it is wartime and war is expensive," Draco declared, with false gravitas and authority.

Hermione felt dread coil in her belly.

"What do you propose, your Grace?" Lord Dolohov asked.

"I have conferred with the Lady of the Coin, my Lady Mother, and have decided," Draco said, as firm as he could. The boy-king looked around his council table. "Three galleons from the noble Houses of Albion every month. Three galleons from the vassal purebloods, to be collected every other month. Five galleons from the half-blood households, every other month. Seven galleons from Muggle and Mudblood families every fortnight."

"You can't do that!"

Hermione swallowed, biting her lower lip as she looked down. Her outburst had silenced any other protest a council member might have had. Draco's expression hardened and he turned molten silver eyes onto his future bride. Hermione swallowed and then looked him in the eye, her jaw flexing.

"You forget your place, my Lady. Your opinion holds no weight here. Here you  _ask_ permission to speak," Draco snarled.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Your Grace, may I have permission to speak?"

"You may," the boy-king said through clenched teeth.

"Your tax is unfair. In the empire, few Muggles or Muggleborn families can afford such a tax. You are setting them up to  _fail_ ," Hermione insisted. She refused to look at her stepbrother's face.

Draco's face twisted from irritation to outrage to a menacingly dark look that promised Hermione a punch to the face. She clenched her own fist, willing herself not to punch the king in the face herself. Hitting him, surrounded by his followers, when she didn't have a wand—a death sentence. Breathing was practically a death sentence around the boy.

"My Lady, do not speak of my empire like you know. You are foreign."

"As is my brother," Hermione retorted. "Your Grace, this is unfair. You are taxing the Muggles and Muggleborns astronomically high and then, you will lash out at them when they cannot—"

Draco's hand flashed out, grabbing at her face so hard, that she knew she would have purple imprints of his fingers on her chin and cheeks. He brought his face close to hers.

"Hold your tongue. Matters of the state do not  _concern_  you," Draco hissed, squeezing hard. Spittle marked her skin. "If you speak again, I will not hesitate to use the Cruciatus on you."

"Your Grace," Lord Rodolphus said and Draco pushed her back with such force that Hermione's chair rocked. She swallowed her rage, ignoring Narcissa's emotionless regard. "The girl has a point."

"How so, Lord Rodolphus?" Narcissa asked.

Hermione turned wide, slightly watery eyes onto Lord Rodolphus. He didn't look at her, keeping his even one-eyed gaze on Draco's face.

"Such an announcement will raise further rebellion, your Grace. Especially within the East. Infrastructure is crumbling and when we announce higher taxes, the money won't go to improving that but, to a war fund. How does that serve the people?" Lord Rodolphus asked. "The Order will not be pleased. It will incite outrage. More people will join them. It's counterproductive."

"The Order won't stand a chance," Narcissa said, her voice cold. "We've just killed two of their top lieutenants."

Lord Rodolphus frowned at her as if she was a puzzle that he couldn't figure out.

"How could you know that, your Highness? As General of the Aurors, and the army at large, I think I'd know, best of all, the kind of chance the Order will stand," Lord Rodolphus retorted. "He Order is a highly trained group of rebels. Taking the Prewetts, alone, involved a joint effort between Death Eaters and the Aurors."

Lord Dolohov clapped his hands together, an easy smile on his face.

"It's quite lucky we have both of those resources," Lord Dolohov said, winking at the man.

Lord Rodolphus stared back, bored.

Draco gave a boyish smile. "He is correct. Both of you are, in fact. We shall send a joint task-force between the Death Eaters and the Aurors to a village as a warning. Predominantly Muggle of course. Now, which one to choose..."

Hermione swallowed her disgust. She searched for Luna, wondering if anyone was sane like her, would realize the insanity in this boy. Luna was gone, probably waiting at the bottom of the stairs for Hermione. Hermione made eye contact with Lord Rodolphus but, he looked disbelieving.

Narcissa leaned in, hissing in her son's ear. Draco was frowning, and nodding. Draco lifted his wand and waved it. Hermione watched as a group of gray pieces floated through the air. Some were marked with a snake and skull. Others were marked with an 'A' made of three wands. Hermione watched as they floated over to the marking of a town, on the border of the East and the North.

"Surrey," Narcissa declared. She looked nearly sad. "My sister, the late Queen, had a funny nickname for the village. It always made me amused when she called it 'Little Whinging' in jest."

Draco laughed as if he also found it funny.

"Send out a group of Aurors and Death Eaters. Burn it down," Draco commanded.

Lord Rodolphus cleared his throat. "No."

Hermione froze. She looked at Draco but, the boy-king seemed confused by the word. Hermione doubted he'd ever been told 'no' in his entire life.

" 'No'?" Narcissa asked with a raised eyebrow.

Lord Rodolphus gave her a frigid smile. "We do not serve the king just as we never served the late Queen. The Death Eaters are tied to the Dark Lord Voldemort by blood and ink. We serve no other. Without our Lord's command, we shall do nothing. However, I can provide you with Aurors."

Draco's eyes flashed and he growled, pointing his wand at Rodolphus.

"I am your king!" he roared.

Lord Rodolphus blinked. "But, you are not my Lord."

"It matters not!" Draco snarled. "Dolohov! Gather a group of Aurors. Send them to fight in my name! You will lead them. I command it. This council is adjourned!"

He stood from the table and stormed towards the exit. Blaise rose, nodding at Hermione with a cruel glint in his eyes. Dolohov and MacNair followed immediately, speaking softly to each other. Crabbe lumbered after them, wordlessly. Hermione stood, staring after the King.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and she turned. Hermione stiffened when Narcissa wrapped her arms around Hermione in a tight hug.

Narcissa pressed her lips to Hermione's ear and whispered, "Don't play if the game if you're afraid to lose."

Narcissa pulled away from Hermione with a chilly smile. Hermione watched the Duchess of the East slink off from the room, her head held high, navy blue skirts dragging across the ground. Luna stood in the doorway and she pressed herself to the wall, falling into a low curtsey as Narcissa elbowed past her. A heavy hand fell on Hermione's shoulder.

Hermione jumped and she was in the stare of a pair of mismatched eyes.

"Lord Lestrange?" Hermione asked.

"You should not have spoken Lady Granger," Lord Rodolphus said.

Hermione stared at him, cross. "What else was I going to do?"

"The King is a dangerous boy. I see how he treats you," Lord Rodolphus said.

Luna scurried in, stepping up on the dais and she cradled Hermione's face, a frown making her lips pout.

"He hurt you again," Luna whispered. She looked up at Lord Rodolphus and then looked back down, letting out a long sigh. "We'll put bruise removal paste on it. Why did he do this?"

"She spoke out against a tax that the King will be imposing," Lord Rodolphus said.

"I had to say something. I  _had_ to. Someone had to," Hermione insisted.

"Aren't you afraid of him?" the man asked. "You don't have a wand."

Hermione cleared her throat. "Yes, I'm afraid. I've been afraid all my life. And I'll say something anyway."

Lord Rodolphus stared at her for a long time before he nodded, taking a step back. He bowed to her, looking at Luna for a long moment. Luna turned away with a long sigh. Hermione watched the secret exchange. Lord Rodolphus and Luna knew each other. At least someone knew something.

Hermione hoped  _she_ knew what she was doing.

She had challenged the King's authority and she wondered if it would be worth it in the long run.

* * *

 

**WHOM**

* * *

 

"Knocking!"

Harry sat up in his bed, looking up from his book. He shut it, nervously and waited as the pink-haired woman danced into the room, slamming the door shut behind her. Her hair was longer than normal, just down past her shoulders. Tonks pulled off her cloak, tossing it on the rack near his door. It caught around her wrist and she stumbled, pulling the rack down. Harry burst into laughter.

" _Fuck_ ," Tonks hissed as she righted the rack and carefully hung her red cloak. She muttered to herself and as Harry got over the momentary flash of levity, he felt his stomach turn again.

"How was your conversation with... _him_?" Harry asked, attempting to casually start the conversation.

Tonks pursed her lips. "Let's talk about something  _else_. You know, they're making rabbit stew for supper? And Lavender and her friends are baking sweet cakes for the entire  _camp_. I love sweet cakes, Harry."

She babbled on and on, attempting to distract herself just as he was. They were more similar than different, Harry realized, time and again.

"Tonks…" he whispered.

"Yes, Harry?" Tonks asked, brightly falling onto the bed and lying at the bottom, staring at her.

Harry squirmed, uncomfortable. She would understand his questions. He  _knew_ she would. Tonks understood what he was doing. She had been in the same position countless times. She wouldn't judge him either. And, he supposed that she knew what she was doing.

"Tonight… I've never...I don't know how to… Tonks," he finished, helplessly.

Tonks frowned, sitting up. And then, the slow smile of a cat with cream spread across her face.

"You do know what to do?" Tonks asked. "Tell me if you've at least wanked before."

Hurry flushed, glaring at her. He nodded in confirmation of her last statement and Tonks crawled forward, laying back against the pillows next to Harry. Harry looked down at her and swallowed hard, wondering how he should phrase it. He should just be blunt. Tonks wouldn't give a damn and Tonks was the  _only_ person that Harry would even consider talking about it all with.

Even thinking about talking to Ron or Ginny about the coming events made his stomach turn.

"Tonks...I don't...I know how it's done. When I lived in Little Whinging, men would say the things they wanted to do to me," Harry whispered. He leaned in. "He...they've been calling me a whore for as long as I can remember. But, I have no idea what  _I'm_  doing."

Tonks hummed sitting up beside him, looking at him with consideration. Her skirts hiked up around her thighs. She drummed her fingers against her uncovered knees.

"I'm not sure I understand. Would you like to fuck him?"

Harry flushed. When he imagined it, he had been pressed down, a heavy weight on top of him, between his legs. He ached. Harry shook his head, furiously, looking down. Tonks grabbed his chin and tilted his head back up so that he would meet her eyes.

"Don't be embarrassed, Harry. I'm the one that gets fucked too," Tonks reminded him. Harry made a choking sound and nodded again.

"You're the only one I would trust to ask this of. The only one who understands," Harry choked out and Tonks smiled. Harry squirmed. He was glad when she didn't tease him or even laugh a bit.

"I know, Harry. It's okay. Tell me what you want and I'll tell you how to get it," Tonks promised. "Have you ever kissed anyone? Are you attracted to him, at least? It'll make it easier."

"He's kissed me before," Harry blurted out. "When we first met. And I'm so attracted to him, I could cry. He's beautiful. He's always in control and I get in my head and out of my head, and I lose it. I forget what I'm doing. What I'm supposed to be doing. All those things those men whispered about me...they want to hold me down and fuck me until I scream their names. Choke me on their cocks. I want him...to...oh gods, I can't believe I just  _said_ that."

Tonks grinned, laughing. "I can't believe it  _either!_ "

"Merlin, you see what I'm talking about?" Harry demanded, shaking his head. "I can't just...this has to be a goal-oriented exercise."

"Oh, it'll sure be an exercise if you want him to make you  _scream,_ " Tonks cackled, trembling with her laughter and falling back on the bed. Harry groaned, slapping his embarrassment away from his cheeks.

"Tonks!"

"Alright, alright. You want to have control of yourself. Is that it?" Tonks sighed, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"This isn't about me. It's about the oath. About my people," Harry said, firmly.

Tonks shook her head. "It's about your  _pleasure_ , first and foremost. You're a virgin. You deserve pleasure. But, you can have your pleasure and control too. I'll help you with that.

Harry gasped when Tonks tackled him and pushed him onto his back. He stared at her in astonishment as she shoved his book off the bed. It hit the floor with a heavy thud that nearly deafened Harry. Tonks swung her leg over him and straddled his hips, sitting back. Harry flushed an even deeper red and turned his head, averting his gaze from her perverted smugness.

She slowly guided his face so that he was looking up at her. She stared down at him, taking in all his insecurity and hesitancy.

"No, Harry...you  _must_ look in his eyes. Always. Making love is in the eyes."

Harry nodded, cataloging what Tonks was saying. The older woman slowly pushed up her sleeves, arching her back and showing off her ample breasts. Everything she did suddenly oozed with sexuality. It was a performance that he had never witnessed. Another one of her transformations.

"It is said that Morgin of Afallon could finish a man with nothing but her eyes," Tonks sighed, with a slight smile, and Harry looked up at her, frowning.

"Finish a man?" he asked hesitantly. Tonks raised an eyebrow at him. Harry laughed, nervously, and he shuddered under her weight. "Oh…"

"Men traveled across the world for a night with Morgin of Afallon. Kings sold their palaces. Wizards burned her enemies for just a few hours with her. They say a thousand men proposed to her but she refused them  _all_ ," Tonks purred, her voice growing distant as she recalled the great Dark witch that had fallen to Helga's might before Albion had become the empire that it was known to be.

As she spoke, she laced her fingers through Harry's and slowly brought his hands up on either side of his head. She leaned over him, a sultry smile on her face, her breasts nearly falling out of her dress. Harry stared at her cleavage, the soft hanging creamy flesh and looked up at her face again. He swallowed.

"Well, she sounds like an interesting woman," Harry said, trying to break the tense mood.

Tonks rolled her eyes, leaning down. "A  _dangerous_ woman," Tonks corrected.

"I don't... I don't think that Voldemort would like it with me on top," Harry confessed. Tonks' eyes flashed and her grip on his hand tightened.

"You will  _make_ him like it, my Prince. Men want what they've never had," Tonks said and she looked at him, pointedly. She was throwing his words back in his face. Harry swallowed, and nodded, slowly. "The Dark Lord is a brute. He takes men and women like a hound takes a bitch. Like a master takes his slaves."

Disgust leeched into her voice. Harry flinched at her tone and Tonks' eyes softened. She brushed Harry's red cheek with the back of her hand. Harry relaxed against her and wondered. The thought of the Dark Lord fucking him like a whore made him feel nauseous. On all fours, like something to be used. Harry looked up at the woman, looking at the legs on either side of him, her stomach, her breasts, the firm look in her eyes.

_Nope._  Not attracted to her, Harry decided. But, imagining the Dark Lord between his legs, fucking into him. Harry groaned, looking away.

"Are you a bitch? Are you a slave, Prince Harry?" Tonks whispered, her voice soft.

Harry shook his head. Long locks of pink hair tickle the side of his nose, his cheek, the area around his eye.

Tonks straightened and pressed Harry's hands against her hips. Harry's fingers flexed involuntarily. Tonks smiled, running a finger down his cheek and then she arched her back again.

"Then, don't make love like a slave…" Tonks murmured and she began to move astride Harry, her hips twisting with promise and Harry's eyes widened at her wanton moves.

She writhed, her body undulating underneath his hands and he wondered if  _this_ was what Tonks expected him to do.  _This_ , which Tonks had perfected through years of learning. It had seemed brilliant, at the time, to ask a prostitute, especially one with a special set of skills, such as spying, like Tonks. Now, it made Harry realize that both he  _and_ Voldemort were probably in for a world of disappointment.

Tonks possessed all the confidence in the world and Harry didn't understand it. But, then again, he supposed he did. The woman knew that she could do anything she wanted and she looked powerful from the position she was in. It was like Harry pretending to be confident in his ability as a prince when he had literally  _no_  idea what he was doing. But, Harry knew why he had done it, why he had been combative with Moody and his faction. It was all about control.

_This_ was about control.

Harry hooked his arm around Tonks' waist and flipped them. Tonks' back hit the bed with a soft thud and she gave a breathy laugh, her grin wide and approving. Harry now sat astride her, staring down at her. Tonks squeezed his wrist in encouragement.

"Very good, Harry!" she said, pleased.

"It's about control," Harry confirmed.

Tonks nodded. "Out there, he is the mighty Dark Lord, feared by all. But, in here, you have to make him  _beg_ to have you. And he will do anything you ask of him. In here, you  _own_ him."

* * *

 

**IS**

* * *

 

The old, wretched woman stumbled her way free of the Vanishing Cabinet, shivering as the magic slid off her like slime. She looked around in bitterness. It had only been a few days, a week, at best. But, the room was already covered in a thin film of dust, forgotten by the empire. She was forgotten as she had always feared. The crone limped forward, her skirts brushing against old bloodstains, strands of black hair littered around the place that she had fallen.

She raised a hand to her head, stroking at the open scalp, covered by thin wisps of brittle white hair. She no longer made a noise when her hand came away with hair caught in her long nails. It was expected now. The old woman took another creaking step forward, and the marble floors swallowed itself, revealing the spiral staircase.

She began the descent.

Her old age had her stooped over, moving at a much slower pace but, she was not weak and she had not forgotten the way. Not yet.

When she reached the bottom, she looked around the dark room that she had shared with her brother. This room, too, looked forgotten. Even the diadem, Helena's diadem, was covered in dust. She could hear the scurries of rats, crawling over her gnarled feet. Where was her brother? Why had he not searched for her? Or had he not yet returned with the Fairest's heart?

The former Queen Bellatrix ignored the potions that had long burned out. She walked straighter towards the mirror, her black skirts brushing across the bloodstained stone floor. She stood before the looking glass, and stroked its frame, lovingly. She tried not to look at her face. She had once caught a glimpse of it, in the reflection of a window.

The ugly, twisted, lined face haunted her dreams.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall...who is the fairest of them all?"

Bellatrix felt the magic shifting underneath her hand. She watched as her own reflection was chased away by another and her stomach rolled. She didn't gasp but, she felt her heart stop. For just a moment before it began beating twice as fast.

The Fairest was, indeed, beautiful. Beautiful in his pleasure. He was on his back, a familiar head between his legs. Bellatrix watched her brother kiss bruises into the Fairest's thighs, watched her brother  _worship_ this being, with lust and reverence in his crimson eyes. Bellatrix's stomach clenched and bile rose in her throat.

Her brother, her  _brother_ , was giving this wretched boy pleasure. The Fairest's head was tilted back, bright, swollen lips parted as he moaned, like the wanton whore that he was. Her brother, her  _brother_  was putting the pleasure of this boy first. Her brother, who took and took, notorious in his greed, was giving this  _boy_ everything that she had once desired.

She was stricken with betrayal and she closed her eyes before she ate her own heart out of her chest in grief.

"Mirror, mirror, tell me this, who shall return us to former bliss?"

When she opened her eyes, the image had faded away, to her eternal gratefulness. Pained electric blue eyes watched her carefully before the mirror rippled to reveal a man.

It was a different man. Not the Fairest.

This man sat on a rock, in the middle of the ocean. Bellatrix could not tell if the man was young or old. He went from being an old decrepit man, gnarled and uglier than she, to a beautiful young man with bouncing blond curls and terribly cruel eyes. He was naked as a child and then, he looked at her, as if he could see her.

Bellatrix took a step back when he slipped into the sea, and his legs were suddenly covered in seaweed. Long, decorative shells and beads hung from his neck and his lips turned blue. His skin looked nearly translucent and slits appeared in his neck. He looked at her once more before diving deep into the sea, escaping her.

"Gellert, Warlock of the Sea, is the one you should see. But, beware his offers for he may be the end of thee."

* * *

 

**FAIREST**

* * *

 

Harry waited, squirming in his robes. He paced up and down the length of his room, his stomach in knots, growing more and more jittery by the second. His mind raced a thousand leagues an hour. He glanced outside. It was dark. They hadn't set a time. Harry had just wanted the man bathed. It was best that it happened at night. He looked outside of the Burrow II again, into the enormous wooden cage.

Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape were still there but, with bedrolls this time. There were only two bedrolls. They were alone, speaking quietly while sipping rabbit stew from tin bowls. Snape looked up at him through the window and Harry jerked back, slamming the curtains closed. He turned around and swallowed, looking at his perfectly made bed to the oil lamps lit around the room.

It was too bright. Merlin, he didn't want to see every damn  _moment_. He crossed to the oil lamp closest to the door, atop his wardrobe, next to the mirror and closed his fist. The flames died immediately. He slowly pulled off his glasses, setting them aside. The world was a little blurrier but, not too bad.

Harry looked at his reflection in the mirror. He looked terrified.

Merlin, that wasn't sexy.

He could hear Ron's heavy footsteps and quiet muttering to his sister. A lump developed in Harry's throat.

"Don't try anything funny," Ron snarled, pushing the door open.

"That means don't try to escape," Ginny warned, her voice much colder than Ron's festering rage.

_He_ laughed, soft and cold, a hissing sound. "I think I'll be a little too preoccupied. You might want to put up some privacy wards. He looked like he's loud."

Harry's face flushed. He could imagine the two Weasleys blushing in embarrassment, and sure enough, he could hear their sputtering. Harry heard the door slam shut with finality.

The floorboards creaked under the Dark Lord's boots. Harry closed his eyes and his hands clenched into tight nervous fists at his side, flexing and releasing. He felt two broad hands settle on his waist and his breath rushed out of him when he yanked him back and he felt the man's bulging cock against his backside.

He could feel the man's breath against his ear. "Hello there, sweetling. Let me see your pretty eyes."

Green eyes found crimson and the older man's hair tickled his face, softly. Voldemort stared at him, unashamed of his lust. He lowered his lips to spot right behind Harry's ear and Harry shivered from the top of his head to his toes. His face burned and his breath hitched in his throat. Voldemort never took his eyes off of Harry's face.

"Please… be nice to me," Harry said, his breath stuttering as Voldemort pressed closer to him, breathing in the scent of his neck.

"I'm not a nice man, Harry Potter," Voldemort said, kissing the tiny bit of shoulder that peeked out of the neck of Harry's tunic. He sucked a bruise into his skin and Harry's knees buckled. Voldemort laughed, nipping at the skin, watching it turn red. "You're mine now, aren't you? After tonight, I'll  _always_ own a piece of you."

Harry keened in the back of his throat. He turned in Voldemort's arms and looked up at him. Voldemort stared down at him, waiting. Harry would have to make the move. Harry hesitantly raised a trembling hand to cup Voldemort's cheek. He scraped his calloused hand over the bristles of stubble. Voldemort couldn't read anything. Harry pushed up and pressed a chaste kiss to Voldemort lips, gently sucking on his bottom lip. Voldemort kissed back, confused.

Harry jerked back as if the kiss had burned.

"Men used to tell me what they wanted to do to me," Harry said. He took a step forward, so sure of himself that Voldemort took a step back. "What do you want to do to me, Lord Voldemort?"

Voldemort's eyes burned and he took a step closer, backing Harry into the mirror. It trembled behind Harry but Voldemort reached up, steadying it. Harry's heart was beating in his throat.

"I'd  _like_ to do much to you. Too much for a single night. I want to lay out and suck bruises into your thighs, rub my cheeks against all of your soft, untouched skin. I want to taste you, to see if you're sweet,  _everywhere_. I'd suck your sweet hole until you came on my tongue. I want to finger you until you cum and drink you down. I want to teach you how to suck a man's cock. I want to  _fuck_ you until you  _cry_. Until you only know me," Voldemort hissed.

Harry gasped out a shaky breath and he turned his hot face against the cool glass. Fog clouded the glass for a second before it disappeared again. His cock was harder than it had ever been into his life. Harry turned defiant green eyes back onto the Dark Lord.

"What  _will_ you do to me?" Harry asked.

Voldemort's eyes darkened. "I will give you so much pleasure that you forget your own name but, you will  _never_ forget  _me._ "

They stared at each other for a long moment.

Harry wasn't sure who moved first. All he knew was that they crashed into each other, mouth upon mouth, the sound of their kissing loud over the crackling of the flames. Harry moaned into Voldemort's mouth, and he raked his nails through the man's tunic and doublet. He searched for the buttons, eyes half-closed, sucking on Voldemort's tongue. Voldemort's hands moved from his waist to his ass, squeezing, kneading his flesh. Harry ripped open the doublet.

Buttons flew, clattering to the ground, as they stumbled towards the bed and Voldemort spun them so that Harry fell back against the mattress, bouncing once, twice. Voldemort stood at the edge of the bed, staring down at him for a long moment. Harry flushed, cheeks dark as he slowly spread his legs. Voldemort groaned and crawled onto the bed, sliding into the cradle of Harry's hips. Voldemort leaned up, tugging off his doublet and tunic, leaving him only in tight trousers. Harry groaned.

The man was  _built_. Broad shoulders, the lines of his muscles clear in the firelight. The fire seemed to be growing brighter. Harry whimpered, running his hands up Voldemort's hard abdomen, tracing the lines of his pecs, dragging a thumb over the man's nipples.

Voldemort's hand slid under the small of Harry's back, and tugged, bringing Harry up. Harry tangled his fingers in the man's hair and kissed him again. This was a different kiss. It wasn't hot and messy like the ones they had shared before. This was filthy and meant to hurt.

Voldemort bit his lower lip hard enough to make it bleed and sucked the blood, shuddering with pleasure as he licked Harry's lips clean.

"I hate you," Harry whispered against the Dark Lord's lips.

Voldemort pulled back and stared at him. "Why?" he whispered, staring down at Harry. He slowly pulled Harry's robes open, as if he were unwrapping a gift for himself.

"You'll ruin me," Harry said, his voice breaking.

"You want to be ruined," Voldemort said. He caged Harry in, hands on either side of Harry's head.

Voldemort stared. He had been staring from the moment he'd seen Harry Wildfyre. Defiant green eyes, like summer. Lips that made him think of war. Pale skin. Dark hair spread across the white cotton sheets beneath them. Voldemort would start a war for the boy that wanted to be ruined.

The boy that wanted him.

Voldemort rucked Harry's shirt up, staring at pink nipples and he lowered his lips, laving his tongue across them until they were hard, pebbling from pleasure. Harry panted softly, his eyes rolling up to the ceiling, his lips moving with unspoken words. Voldemort dragged his tongue down the soft flesh, biting him, marking him.

"I'm going to cum," Harry said, breathless. Voldemort smirked and ground down. Harry jerked, one leg curling around the back of Voldemort's thigh.

"Then, cum," Voldemort said.

Harry's eyes narrowed on him and then, with a sudden show of strength, he twisted so that he was sitting astride Voldemort, staring down at him. Voldemort sat up immediately, cradling the back of Harry's neck. Harry shrugged off his robe and tossed it off the edge of the bed. He rocked down against Voldemort, rubbing his cock against Voldemort's, as he pulled his tunic over his head, leaving him shirtless.

His movements were so clumsy and jerky but, still, everything about this boy was erotic to Voldemort. His green eyes were half-closed as he frotted against Voldemort, stealing his own pleasure first. Harry let out a breathy moan and Voldemort slid his hands down Harry's bare back, grabbing at his ass and shifted him, grinding him just over his cock.

"You moan so prettily for me," Voldemort growled as his licked at the tender flesh over the hollow of Harry's throat.

Harry answered with another moan and then a longer keen where he shuddered, jerking in Voldemort's arms. Harry's head fell onto Voldemort's shoulder as he shuddered through his orgasm and Voldemort held him tight, moving him back and forth over his own erection. Harry panted softly in Voldemort's ear.

"Aren't you supposed to give  _me_ pleasure?" Harry taunted, breathy. "I chased my own pleasure there."

Voldemort laughed and shoved Harry off his lap, unbuttoning the boy's trousers and yanking them down to his thighs along with his small clothes. He stared at his cock, a sizeable thing, already twitching in interest again. Voldemort dragged his fingers through the mess and sucked his own fingers clean, tasting Harry's cum, never taking his eyes off of him. Harry whined and squirmed his pants off until he was naked.

"What do you want?" Voldemort asked.

Harry swallowed. "You...we struck a deal. It's what you want. Just fuck me," Harry whispered.

"I'm not a rapist, Harry Potter," Voldemort said, his voice sharp. "And you don't want that either. What  _do_ you want?"

Harry stared for a long moment and defiance entered his eyes again. He reached forward, ripping open the button of Voldemort's trousers, showing off the cut of his pelvis.

"Make me cry then. If you can," he challenged. He slowly crawled backward from under Voldemort until he was resting higher on the bed. "Oil is on the side table."

Voldemort stood, shoving his trousers down his powerful thighs, his cock bobbing. Harry stared at it, swallowing hard. Harry wasn't small, by any means. But, this man was  _big_. Just what he needed a man with an enormous ego and a cock to match it.

"You're eager," Voldemort taunted, sliding back onto the bed, his cock pressed against the soft sheets. His face was between Harry's legs, his eyes raking over his unblemished thighs, his rosy half-hard cock, his balls. Voldemort turned his face into Harry's thigh, rubbing his bristly cheeks against it.

Harry shuddered. It burned. He burned.

"You're big," Harry said, swallowing hard. Voldemort looked up, smirking at the red rash spreading on the inside of Harry's thighs.

"Will that be a problem?" Voldemort asked, nipping softly at the base of Harry's cock. Harry groaned, planting his feet on the bed and spreading his legs wider, his toes curling into the sheets.

"Just an observa _tion_ ," Harry whined as Voldemort dragged his tongue up the length of Harry's cock.

Voldemort laughed. "You're much more articulate after the first orgasm. I didn't see that coming."

"I haven't seen you come either," Harry retorted, breathing heavily through his pleasure. Voldemort bent his head down again so that all Harry could see was the top of his head.

"Patience," Voldemort tutted. "Oil, now."

Harry reached over, blindly for the vial that Tonks had slipped to him before she had left him to bathe. Oil and  _cleaning_ spells and seduction lessons. That was Tonks' first lesson. It made Harry's stomach burn and turn. He offered it to Voldemort as he licked and sucked at his thighs, at his pelvis, kissing his balls. Harry writhed, gritting his teeth to calm himself.

"I'm...gonna...cum  _again_ ," Harry hissed.

Voldemort's fingers immediately wrapped around the base of his cock and squeezed, warningly. Harry jerked.

"No, you're not," Voldemort drawled. He took the offered oil and grabbed a spare pillow. With one hand, he lifted Harry by the small of his back, sliding the pillow underneath it.

Harry tried to close his thighs, feeling so completely exposed. He stopped himself, swallowing as Voldemort brushed a finger against the rim of his hole. He went rigid, a moan cracking its way from his ribcage.

"You're very noisy," Voldemort observed as he poured oil along his fingers and brought his hand back down. He laid down on his stomach, eye level with Harry's hole.

"Do I sound whorish enough for you?" Harry rasped. "Is this what they sound like when you fuck them? I wonder…do you usually fuck them on their stomachs or on their backs? They called me cocktease, you know. That I was a pretty little whore that wouldn't put out. Like it was against my nature. It isn't...do I sound whorish enough for you, Lord Voldemort?"

Voldemort stared up at him, very serious. Harry's stomach swooped.

Very carefully, the Dark Lord said, "You are not a whore."

"Promise?" Harry asked. He didn't expect an answer.

Instead, the Dark Lord looked back down and rubbed Harry's hole with the pad of his thumb before he slid his finger. Harry gasped, back arching, and he clenched down around the foreign appendage.

"You're going to break my finger," Voldemort said, laughing softly.

"Fuck you," Harry bit out.

"Fuck  _you_ ," Voldemort retorted and he slid in a second, tugging at Harry's rim. Harry cried out again and his lashes fluttered. His fingers dragged down his stomach, grabbing onto his wet cock and he tugged, twisting just the way he liked. A hand clamped around Harry's wrist. "None of that. You're not going to spend again until I've fucked it out of you."

"You have a filthy mouth," Harry slurred.

"I have a filthy tongue too," Voldemort said.

Harry shook his head. "If you put your tongue in me, I  _will_ cum and that'll be it. So, your tongue or your cock."

"Next time, then."

"You presume much, my Lord," Harry gasped as Voldemort scissored his fingers, taking his time to open him up, pulling his fingers to his rim and stretching. Harry knew he was watching him. Harry was both aroused and embarrassed. Or perhaps he was aroused by the humiliation. It was too much.

It was too bright in the room.

"Two more fingers," Voldemort promised.

"Tonks...Tonks said it would hurt," Harry whispered. "What if I want it to hurt?"

Voldemort stopped, suddenly. He looked at Harry like he was a gift from the gods.

Harry felt  _beautiful_.

"It won't. If it hurts, I'm not doing it right. And you're more relaxed after the first orgasm. You want it to hurt, Harry Potter?" Voldemort whispered against his thighs.

"You said you'd make me cry," Harry snarled and he clenched down on Voldemort's fingers again, rocking on them, fucking himself on them. "You said you'd be nice."

"I said I was never nice," Voldemort corrected and he withdrew his fingers entirely, pouring oil on his fingers and slowly working three in. Harry gasped, breathing heavily through the stretch.

He felt full, almost too full. He was on the edge of uncomfortable and pleasured. Voldemort was bigger than his fingers. Still, Harry wanted it to sting. He wanted to feel it in the morning. He wanted to be ugly. He wanted to be ruined.

Voldemort thrust once, twice before he curved his fingers and pressed upon a spot inside Harry that made him  _scream_. Voldemort's other hand tightened around the base of his cock, stopping the orgasm that crested inside of him. The fireplace lit with flames.

"What was  _that_?" Harry gasped, rocking. Sweat beaded on his brow and his limbs trembled.

Voldemort smirked. "Again?"

"Y-yes... _no._  Put your cock in me," Harry demanded.

Voldemort snorted, shaking his head as he pulled his fingers out of Harry, leaving him aching. Harry felt open and empty, his hole clenching over nothingness. He moaned, squirming.

"You are  _bossy_. I've never been in bed with someone as bossy as you," Voldemort quietly observed. He sat upon his knees and scooted closer, pressing the blunt head of his cock between Harry's thighs.

Harry swallowed, thinking back to what Tonks had told him as the head of Voldemort's cock pressed against his hole.  _Bear down._  Harry keened at the burn as Voldemort pressed inside. The man stopped immediately, slowly rocking forward, easing himself in. And it burned. It burned like the Fire, and Harry's world narrowed to a pair of crimson eyes and the smell of salt and smoke. Voldemort groaned, tugging Harry's legs around his waist. Harry's back arched.

It was never-ending. The man fucked himself into him in tiny movements, and Harry swallowed his pleasure, throwing an arm over his face. This felt better than anything he'd felt in his life.

"Oh... _fuck…_ " Voldemort hissed.

Harry looked up at him. The man was even blurrier than before. His cheeks felt wet. He tasted smoke and salt on his lips. Voldemort leaned down, licking the taste away.

Voldemort rolled his hip again, and then, Harry felt his balls pressed against him. Harry reached up, gritting his teeth, and grabbed onto Voldemort's shoulders. With all his might, he flipped them and he cried out when Voldemort shifted within him prematurely. Harry gasped, falling forward as he sat astride Voldemort.

"I have never wanted in my entire life," Harry confessed against Voldemort's mouth and then he sat up, staring down at the man, flexing around his cock.

Voldemort groaned, choking over his own breath. He stared up at Harry like he was an apparition, like he was unreal. His hands fluttered for just a second and Harry smirked down at him.  _He_ had made the Lord Voldemort uncertain. And then, Voldemort's hands tightened on his waist.

"What...are you doing?" Voldemort asked, confusion in his voice. He sat up on his elbows, hands still on Harry's waist. Harry pressed his hand against Voldemort's mouth.

Harry pressed his hands against Voldemort's stomach and rolled his hips. Harry let out a shuddering sigh. He tossed his head back and rose up before falling back down on Voldemort's cock. It felt good. So  _good_. His stomach was turning inside-out. But, the angle was wrong. Harry rolled his hips again, sighing.

Suddenly, Voldemort was sitting up and Harry froze, his lips parted. He felt raw with the man right there, their breaths mingling. Harry raised nervous fingers onto Voldemort's shoulders and he rolled his hips. Voldemort stared at him, this beautifully complicated mess of a prince. Underneath the bravado and the beauty, the boy in his lap was an open wound, riding his cock like he was born to do it.

Voldemort thrust up, at just the right angle. Harry moaned, slumping against the man's chest, throwing his arms over Voldemort's shoulders, clinging to him. They fell into a rhythm, hips rolling, limbs slick with oil and sweat. Voldemort groaned, as he fucked up into Harry's tight, wet heat. Harry's eyes were more focused than they had ever been, his pupils tiny pinpricks in the brightness of the room. Voldemort pressed his lips to Harry's chin, his eyelids, his cheekbones, the bruises that littered his collarbone and shoulders.

"Look at me," Harry panted into Voldemort's hair. Voldemort looked at him. "Look at  _me._ "

Voldemort looked at him, sliding his hand between their bodies, brushing his fingers against Harry's cock. "Yes?"

" _Yes,_ " Harry hissed and Voldemort's hand tightened around him, jerking him off hard and fast.

Harry rode him twice as fast, firm thighs working up and down as they found the right angle. Harry cried out, hitched sounds that grew louder and louder. Harry clenched down and suddenly, he burned so hot that the fireplace roared. The world turned brighter than anything. The sky was white, and the clouds were gone, and Harry  _came._

Voldemort groaned as Harry clenched around him and he held the boy on his cock, fucking him through his orgasm. One look at those pink cheeks, those too-clear eyes, sent Voldemort over the edge. He groaned as he came inside Harry, his eyes fluttering closed. He fucked Harry through his orgasm even when the boy made sounds of overstimulation.

Voldemort's grip loosened and Harry groaned, nearly falling. Voldemort gasped back into reality, looking at the loose-limbed boy. Slowly, he laid Harry on his back and slid out of him. Harry whined, squirming from the stimulation.

Harry laid there for a second, staring at the man. Voldemort was breathing hard, looking over at the wall. Harry looked down at him. Harry's cum was splattered across Voldemort's stomach. Voldemort's cum was dripping out of him. He squirmed, wincing at the disgusting squelch. Voldemort looked back at him, sharply.

"I don't have my wand. I can't clean you," Voldemort drawled.

Harry closed his eyes and decided not to tell the man that it was in Tonks' possession. His eyes flew open when he felt sheets brush against his sensitive hole and his red, burning thighs. Voldemort very methodically mopped up the mess on both of them, tossing the disgusting sheet on the floor. He fell onto the bed with a quiet thump, on his stomach. Harry looked as the Lord's ass flexed.

"Thank you," Harry whispered.

Voldemort grunted.

Harry ached in places he hadn't thought it was possible to ache in.

"What did you mean...about never wanting in your life?" Voldemort asked, his voice muffled by the sheets.

Harry swallowed and turned his head to look at the man. "Why are you still here?" Harry asked instead of answering. "You could have escaped a long time ago."

"I know," Voldemort said.

"Then, why are you still here?"

Voldemort turned his head so that he was looking at Harry through narrowed crimson eyes.

"I told you that your parents threatened everything I held dear," Voldemort said. "I lied."

Harry swallowed, tugging the blankets around his naked body. He burned but, still he was cold. He wondered how Voldemort wasn't cold. He could see goose bumps running up the man's spine.

"You lied?"

Voldemort sighed. "Your turn."

Harry shivered. He reached out slowly, his hand on Voldemort's shoulder. Voldemort rolled onto his side so that was fully facing Harry. Harry dragged his hand down Voldemort's bicep, tracing lines there. It felt different now. Harry had clung to Voldemort in lust before. Is desperation. This was more complicated.  _Kingmaker_. Harry didn't know if he believed in fate or the alleged prophecy but, he knew that their fates would be entwined until the end.

"I have never wanted anything in my entire life. I have been wanted. Desired. Lusted over. But, I have never asked for anything and no one has ever asked what I wanted," Harry said.

Voldemort grabbed the boy's leg and tossed it over his waist. He tugged Harry closer and Harry gasped. He whined, sore.

"It's okay to want," Voldemort hissed. "What do you want?"

Harry closed his eyes. "I want to be the person I'm supposed to be. I don't even know what that means yet."

"You are meant to be king. You will have it," Voldemort said. And Voldemort whispered his promise, "And I will have my vengeance."

* * *

 

**OF**

* * *

 

Ginny raced forward on horseback, her teeth bared as she looked at the devastation. It had nearly been too late. The slaughtered villages were fallen, blood running through the streets. Fires and screams.

Ginny sounded the call, a shrieking sound. The red-headed Weasleys galloped through Little Whinging. The blazing heat made sweat pour down her forehead into her eyes. The air was too dry to stay for too long but, Ginny knew her duty. Ginny pushed sticky tendrils of hair from her eyes and pull forth her bow. She nocked an arrow and let it fly, watching in satisfaction as it landed in the back of an Auror. Shitty leather and armor for shitty knights of the realm.

"Nice shot!" Ron called.

Ginny grimaced at her favorite brother. Ron bared his teeth at her, battle-ax at the ready. He rolled his shoulders back, ready for a fight. She watched him ride forward, half-hanging off his horse, swinging his ax at one soldier, catching him in the back of his neck.

Ginny pulled another two of her arrows, nocking them, and letting them fly. Into a shoulder, into a neck.  _Perfect._

The only Weasley girl didn't understand the Muggle Aurors. They had sided with the Slytherins despite their hatred for the lowest class. It didn't make sense to her. But, she supposed fear could do that to a person. Fear had made Harry sleep with the  _enemy._  Or perhaps want. Ginny wasn't stupid. She knew what lust was. She had been confronted with it for the first time when she was only a child, on the cusp of womanhood.

Ginny reached back for another arrow and cursed when she saw there were no more. She pulled her wand.

" _ACCIO_ ARROWS!"

She heard them squelch free of bodies, and covered in strips of skin and blood, they settling into her quiver.

Then, she saw him.

Antonin Dolohov.

"Ginny!" Charlie called, full of warning.

So, he had noticed  _him_ too. Ginny bared her teeth and went to race forward, the Killing Curse on the tip of her tongue. She was ready. She pulled a boy, aiming for a non-lethal part of him. She wanted him to  _suffer_ first, as she had suffered for  _years._

Her vision was cut off by another Auror. "Come here, you little bitch!" he snarled at a Muggle as she threw herself over the large dead body of someone who was probably her husband.

He raised his wand threateningly, and the woman cowered. A younger, whale-like young man was trying to protect her but, was trembling in fright. His pants were soiled with piss, probably out of fright. Ginny wouldn't judge him. There had been a time when she had been so scared that she had pissed herself too.

"NO, YOU DON'T!"

Ginny watched as her brother raced past, swinging his axe with all his might, separating the Aurors head from his shoulders. Ginny barely flinched as the man's head flew and his body slumped off the horse. Frightened, his horse galloped off into the flames.

The woman let out shrill screams, staring at the headless body. Ginny dismounted immediately, walking over to them. Their screams grew louder. Ginny knew she looked wild, her hair falling out of two long plaits, as much blood splattered across her cheeks as freckles. The tall skinny, horse-like woman stood in front of her enormous son, trying to protect him.

"Shh… stop screaming. Don't panic... we'll get you out of here," Ginny said, urgently, trying to guide them to a deserted alleyway between two abandoned cottages that led into the forest.

The woman shook her head, disbelieving, terrified. Her son blubbered, unable to form any words. His eyes tracked Ginny's wand. Unsurprising that he seemed terrified of magic-users. He'd learn to get over that at the camp.

"My...my husband...he's dead..he's  _dead_...my son...I can't…"

Ginny touched the woman's shoulder and squeezed.

"Shh...I'm Ginny Weasley. I'm with the Order of the Phoenix. I'll help you. Hide this way...this way," Ginny whispered, tugging the woman along. Her large son lumbered after her, stepping over the broken body with a sob.

"What...what..what should I do? I don't know what to do?" the blonde woman sobbed and Ginny placed an awkward hand on the tall, skinny woman's shoulders. She made a comforting sound.

"You go down this alleyway and beyond the forest edge. I'll be back for you. I promise."

Without waiting for the woman to respond, Ginny spun around, pulling an arrow, nocking it, and letting it fly. The arrow whistled through the air, landed in the side of a man's head. Blood spurted forth and Dolohov jumped as the Auror that had been next to him suddenly slumped. Ginny growled at him and he stared at her interest.

Ginny mounted her horse and lifted her chin, arrogant.

Dolohov bared his teeth in a grin and he shot sparks into the air. The Aurors were retreating.

" _AVADA KEDAVRA!"_  Ginny roared, feeling the jolt of Dark magic speed down her arm, the green Killing Curse flying through the air.

Dolohov Disapparated immediately and the horse fell, struck by her curse.

The Muggle Aurors tried to pull back, galloping away. Ginny wouldn't let them go without a fight. She felt feral and raw. Dolohov had escaped.

But, the others wouldn't.

* * *

 

**THEM**

* * *

 

Harry woke up to his door being slammed open and he sat up, groggy. He squinted, making out Tonks' shocking pink hair and her revealing powder blue gown. The woman walked across the room and pulled the drapes apart, letting in streams of sunlight. Harry groaned, diving under his blankets to hide from the light.

"We need to light a match in here! It smells like a brothel!" Tonks laughed.

Harry groaned. "Pass me my glasses, please."

He felt the lightest of thumps as Tonks threw his glasses onto the bed. He reached for it, blindly and slid them onto his face. Tonks came into focus and he sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Tonks was still grinning at him but, she was looking at his face. Harry looked down and groaned, pulling his covers up around him, hiding the hickeys that covered his chest, his collarbone, and his neck.

"You enjoyed yourself last night," Tonks smirked. She went to sit on the edge of the bed but, then, she paused, having thought better of it.

"How do you know?" Harry retorted.

Tonks laughed. "Did you have anything to do with all of the torches, lamps, and candles lighting suddenly?"

Harry flushed down to his nipples. "Um...maybe."

Tonks threw back her head and laughed with her whole body. "You woke nearly all of the camp. I don't think they realized what was going on but,  _I_ did."

She went to the door and picked up a wooden basket, pulling out a vial and paste. She placed them on the side table in offering.

"Are you sore? It's pepper-up potion. And bruise paste," Tonks said, pointedly. Harry sighed, forgetting propriety. He let the covers drop around his waist and shook himself. He reached for the paste and slathered it onto his neck and jaw, making the love bites disappear.

"Yes, I'm sore," Harry said. Even as he shifted, a burst of pain shot up his spine, making squirm in his bed. Swiftly, he unstoppered the pepper-up potion and downed it. He felt a burst of energy. "Do you have anything for...beard burn?"

Tonks snorted. "No, I didn't know that would be necessary," she retorted. She paused, looking at him for a long time. "Was he good?"

"Tonks!" Harry shouted.

"Was he good to you?" Tonks asked again, clarifying her question.

Harry fell silent. He squirmed and pulled his wand from the bedside table. " _Accio_  robe."

His crimson and gold lined robe flew from the ground and Harry grabbed it, pulling tight around his body. He held it closed as he swung out of bed. It bunched around his knees for a second before it fell to his feet, covering him entirely. Barefoot, he walked towards the mirror and looked at himself.

Even dressed, he looked debauched.

"Yes, he was good to me," Harry said, softly. "It didn't even hurt."

"What do you mean it didn't hurt?" Tonks asked, sharply. Harry turned to look at her with wide green eyes.

"He said...if it hurt...he wasn't doing it right," Harry said. He held his hand out for her basket and Tonks opened it in offering. Harry reached inside and drew the long yew wand. He held it in his hands like it was something precious. "He's still here?"

"Yes. He bathed. He's waiting for his wand and speaking to Madame McGonagall. There was an attack...in Little Whinging. They're on their way back now," Tonks said.

Harry's mouth dropped open. "Little Whinging? There was an attack and no one told me?"

Tonks pursed her lips. "You were...busy."

Harry flushed, looking away. "How is it?" he asked.

"In ashes."

Harry sighed, rubbing at his temple, stressed.

"Turn around. I need to dress. I'll bathe after we see him off," Harry said.

Tonks rolled her eyes as she turned around and stared at the wall. She didn't understand Harry. He was so self-conscious but, he had  _publicly_ agreed to  _fuck_  the Dark Lord. It wasn't like Tonks even wanted him or like Harry wanted her. She preferred older man and he was  _gay._  She listened to the rustle of clothing, waiting for him to dress. He groaned, softly.

"What is it?" Tonks asked, still looking at the door.

"The...beard burn on my thighs hurts like a bitch. And my thighs are sore," Harry sighed.

Tonks smirked. "So, you had quite the exercise. I'm glad our lessons worked out."

"Tonks!"

Tonks turned around just as Harry was pulling on a dark blue robe. She stopped, admiring how his arse looked in the tight black trousers. Harry sighed, padding to the door, uncaring that he was barefoot. He stopped, glanced into the mirror and nodded to himself. Tonks neglected to point out the bright red mark just above the collar of his tunic.

"So, the sex was good?" Tonks asked again, eager to know.

Harry stopped before he opened the door. "It was...it was so good, I  _cried_. I asked him what he was going to do and he said that he would give me so much pleasure that I would forget my own name. For a second, I did."

Tonks swallowed and nodded. She pursed her lips, looking like she'd swallowed a lemon. Harry pushed the door open and they walked down the stairs, arm in arm. Harry hesitated in front of the front door. Tonks huffed and pushed it open. Harry looked around. There was a crowd of villagers that he recognized from Little Whinging being led away from the Burrow II. They looked terrified, covered in ashes and exhaustion.

Harry faltered when he saw a thin, blonde woman following after Ginny Weasley. She was clinging to a massive blonde whale, and they move shakily.

"What? Harry?" Tonks asked.

"That's...that's my aunt. My...fake aunt. The woman who has been taking care of me for the longest time," Harry said, softly. He watched as Madame McGonagall went up to the woman and spoke softly to her.

Petunia looked crossed but, was nodding. The way they spoke to each other—if Harry didn't know better, he'd think they knew each other. Dudley looked over his shoulder and he gasped when he saw Harry. Dudley tapped his mother roughly and pointed. Petunia looked over her shoulder and her blue eyes turned to stone.

Harry flinched.

His vision was obscured suddenly. Harry looked up at the newly clean-shaven face of the Dark Lord. Harry flushed as Voldemort brushed his fingertips against Harry's jaw. He dragged his fingers down Harry's neck, tracing every spot where the bruises had been before his thumb settled at the edge of Harry's collar. He dragged it down, pressing his thumb down on the hickey that Harry had missed. Harry hissed.

"Stop that," Harry snarled, slapping his hand away.

The Dark Lord looked at him in amusement and held out his hand. "May I have my wand?"

Harry swallowed and offered the long yew wand. The Dark Lord took it and let out a long sigh, shuddering. It was how Harry felt whenever he didn't have his wand in his hand.

"You're leaving now," Harry said.

He wasn't sure why he couldn't speak above a whisper. He tried to ignore all the stares from the newcomers and the old-timers alike. They all knew the Dark Lord. Everyone knew the Dark Lord and they all wondered why he walked around the Order camp a free man.

"I'm leaving now," Voldemort repeated. "When would you like me back?"

Harry pursed his lips. "When you have something worthy to tell or teach me."

Voldemort's lips quirked into a smirk. He took a step backward. Harry suddenly missed the crowding. The Dark Lord took Harry's hand, lifting it up and he pressed a kiss to the knuckles. Harry waited, completely still, his expression grim.

_Beauty is power._

Harry was sure that he looked fucking  _gorgeous_.

"Of course, your Highness," Voldemort drawled, never breaking eye contact. He took a step back and turned on his heel without a single glance backward. "Lucius! Severus! Madame McGonagall has been kind enough to arrange Portkeys for us and our mounts. The time approaches."

Harry let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

At her name, McGonagall looked away from Petunia, turning her cold gaze onto the Dark Lord.

"That was...that was intense," Tonks muttered.

"Shut up," Harry hissed back, keeping his attention divided between McGonagall and Petunia and the Dark Lord.

Malfoy had already mounted his horse, holding an oven mitt. He looked irritated and arrogant, as always. But, he looked like he had a particular disdain for the oven mitt. That was probably his Portkey. Snape was watching Harry and Harry flushed under his attention. Voldemort paused before he mounted his beast. He turned on his heel and stalked back towards them. Harry stiffened.

He was surprised when Voldemort walked straight up to Tonks.

He held out his hand. Tonks slowly took it, a cautious frown on her face.

"Blood of my blood," he said. "Until we speak again, Nymphadora."

Tonks swallowed. "Will you tell my mother?"

Voldemort's eyes revealed nothing. "We'll see."

Voldemort looked at Harry for a long time, he raised gloved fingers, rubbing them against Harry's lips and then seemed to think better of it. He turned on his heel and stopped short when he saw McGonagall, Moody, and Fendwick glowering at him. The Dark Lord smirked as he bypassed them, mounted his horse and in just the nick of time, the Dark Lord, and his Death Eaters disappeared a swirling flash of blue light.

When they were gone, Harry looked back at McGonagall. She looked past the Order elders at Petunia and Dudley. Dudley looked terrified, his gaze trained on where the Dark Lord had been only moments before. Petunia was watching him, a sneer curling her lips.

"You know my aunt," Harry said, shifting his gaze back to McGonagall, Fendwick, and Moody.

"And if we do?" Moody barked.

McGonagall averted her eyes.

Harry's gaze narrowed. "Madame McGonagall, call the Order. I believe you have some explaining to do."

* * *

 

**ALL?**

* * *

 

Hermione looked around, wild-eyed. The court stared at her, judging her, condemning her, sentencing her. Hermione searched for Princess Narcissa but, could not find the older woman anywhere. Luna stood, trapped behind the rest of the court, held back by Lord Rodolphus and a man that looked so similar to him, it had to be Rabastan Lestrange. Hermione turned back to look at the knife trained on her.

Draco was skilled at throwing knives. It had been one of the things he had performed in the Republic, during the ball.

"I should punish you for the Order's latest treason! You  _knew_! You  _knew_ that the raid was happening, and suddenly, they appear!" Draco snarled, his cheeks with furious rage.

Hermione looked up at him, pleading.

"Your Grace! Whatever the traitors have done, I had no part in it! You know that! I was here! I was here, your Grace!" Hermione cried, begging even as she hated herself for it. Still, she would beg for mercy aloud but, she would cry. She would not give him the satisfaction of her tears.

"Sir Blaise! Tell her of what occurred!" Draco commanded, barely sparing the other man a glance as he kept his gaze trained on the woman that he tormented daily.

The future queen's step-brother broke away from the ground, a severe expression on his face, his wand arm in a sling. So, he had been in this skirmish as well. Hermione only wished that the Order had managed to slay him too. But, no...that was pleasure she wanted all to herself. Green eyes met brown and Blaise's hand stayed on the hilt of his sword.

"The Order met us at a raid on the Muggle village of Little Whinging, just as  _you_ said they would. Dozens of good men were butchered! After the slaughter, the Order burned their bodies and danced around the fire pit like a group of savages," Blaise spat.

Hermione shook her head, struggling to keep her bearings.  _Liar_.

The room erupted into whispers and a woman swooned. Hermione's fingers knotted in the skirts of her silken periwinkle robes and she looked up with great reluctance. She made sure that she did not look too defiant or bold or it would be her head.

"Killing you  _would_ send those filthy Mudbloods and blood traitors a message… they  _like_ you," Draco said, thoughtfully and he flicked his knife as if he were going to throw it.

Hermione flinched, shutting her eyes and she waited for the sharp edge to slice through her skin like butter. When her death didn't come, she looked back at Draco. The king had thrown his knife into the dais of the Gilded Throne. Draco leaned forward in his throne, an exasperated expression on his face.

"But, my mother insists on keeping you alive. Stand," Draco said, impatiently. Hermione stood immediately and waited. "So, we'll need to send the Order a message some other way. Nott."

Hermione's eyes widened as Theodore, the Heir of House Nott stepped away from the crowd, clad in armor and a cloak. He was not a particularly broad man nor did he have hulking muscle but, the malice in his eyes made up for all of that. Hermione flinched as he raised his hand.

"Stop!"

Hermione stared at Draco, hopeful. She prayed to the gods that she didn't believe in, even the Dtrwies, that he wouldn't do this. Not in front of the entire court. Nott blinked in confusion.

"Leave her face. I like her pretty," Draco smirked.

That was the moment that Hermione promised that she would see the king  _dead_.

She felt rather than saw Nott's punch to her stomach and she staggered from the blow, crying out. Tremors of pain echoed through her body. She wasn't quite over the hit when Nott smacked the back of her leg with the flat of his sword, so hard that she felt the bite of it as if she had been stabbed. Hermione grunted, falling to her knees, and very nearly on her face. She caught herself, her hands scraping raw against the rough stone of the Great Hall. She looked up, fat tears escaping from the corner of her eyes. She refused to cry out again.

She ignored the eyes, the shock of the court. She couldn't hear anything but the roaring of her blood in her ears. She just stared into cold, soulless gray eyes.

"Nott… my Lady is overdressed. You should assist her."

Hermione's eyes widened and she tried to crawl away when she felt long, thin fingers on the back of her neck. She could hear the rip of her robes and the cool air in the Great Hall with her back. Goosebumps erupted down her spine. Nott ripped her robes from her top half viciously. Her breasts were exposed for just a moment and Draco only caught a glimpse of rosebud nipples turned up on pale, small globes before she pulled the ripped fabric to her chest.

Her face was flushed with utter humiliation but, she stared at him, defiant until the end. Her lips curled into a sneer. Draco bared his teeth back, nostrils flared.

"If we want the Order to hear her, we're going to have to speak  _louder_!" Draco growled.

Nott drew his sword with a grin.

Hermione looked down. She would be killed on the stone just beyond the white blood-stained runner that led up to the dais. At least, she wouldn't be one of the many slain. She would be different. The people would know her name. She wasn't afraid anymore.

The sword began to descend.

" _Crucio!_ "

Nott shrieked in agony and Hermione looked up, shocked as the man crumpled at her side, writhing on the floor. It ended as soon as it began. Hermione looked over her shoulder as the Dark Lord Voldemort stalked down the aisle, his wand aloft, Lord Lucius Malfoy and Sir Severus Snape on either side of him. The Dark Lord's eyes burned and he didn't cast her a single glance.

" _What_ is the meaning of this?" Voldemort barked.

Lucius sneered. "What kind of Auror hurts a helpless girl?" Lucius snarled.

Nott staggered to his feet, gasping loudly, shuddering through the aftershocks of the Cruciatus Curse. Still, he looked up, defiant.

"The kind who serves his king," Nott retorted. He took a step forward, red with fury.

"Careful now, we don't want to get any  _more_ blood on the carpet," Severus said, lazily. Nott took a step back, silent in his rage.

"Someone get the girl something to cover herself with," Voldemort snapped and Hermione felt a heavy cloak fall onto her back. She looked back at Snape and nodded her thanks.

He ignored her in favor of his Lord and the King.

"I do not like you on the throne, Draco. But, I will accept it. You must learn  _quickly_. She is to be your queen. Have you no regard for her honor?" Voldemort sneered as he stared at his young and stupid nephew, the picture of an outraged and wronged little boy.

"I was punishing her!"

His voice sounded dangerously close to whining.

Voldemort  _hated_ whining.

"For what crimes? She did not fight the Order's battle. She doesn't even know a single one of them, you idiot," Voldemort hissed, angrily.

Draco jumped up. He put on a haughty glare. "I am your Grace! You can't talk to me that way! I'm the king! The king can do what he likes!"

There was silence. Hermione froze as Lord Voldemort took a step closer. Draco swallowed his pride, taking a shaky step back.

"King Godric did as he liked. Have I ever told you what happened to  _him_ , in  _great_ detail?" Voldemort murmured, taking step up onto the dais. Draco fell back into his chair, fear in his eyes.

Nott took a shaky step forward. Draco glared at him, nodding.

"No one threatens his Grace the presence of the First Guards of the Aurors," Nott said, apprehensive.

Voldemort turned to look at him with crimson eyes.

In a monotonous voice, he said, "I am not threatening the King, Heir Nott. I am educating him." He turned to Severus. "Severus. The next time Sir Nott speaks, kill him."

"Yes, my Lord," Severus said immediately, his interested piqued by the idea of killing the overly confident young knight. Nott took a step back and looked from Voldemort to Draco with unease.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "That was a threat. See the difference?"

The Dark Lord did not wait for an answer. He turned away from Draco and walked straight towards Hermione. Hermione flinched in fear but, he only offered her a hand. Hermione's eyes widened.

She shakily took it, and she heard Draco stand rather than saw him. As she was pulled to her feet, she kept the heavy black firmly around her. She turned her back to the king and began walking down the aisle, feeling much safer with Voldemort's obvious protection and favor. She felt even safer when Luna pushed through the court and launched onto her side, without a word.

Draco was king but, he couldn't touch her now and he  _knew_ it.

"Father! She's mine!" Draco barked. He stamped his feet, angrily. "Father! You can't let him take her! Father, stop him! Or I'll tell Mother!"

Lucius didn't look at him once. The long-haired man looked at Hermione.

"I apologize for my son's behavior," he said, softly and Hermione nodded once to show that she had heard him.

Luna finally stopped inspecting Hermione and looked towards Voldemort. He nodded once at her and Luna felt into a half-curtsey, refusing to let go of Hermione for even a second.

"If you wish to end this engagement, you may speak freely and tell me. I expect truth from you and nothing less," Voldemort said, his voice rough.

Hermione's eyebrows drew down into a frown. Her first thought was to tell him that she had not wanted to be engaged to him in the first place. And then it occurred to her that Draco still had her wand. Her stepbrother was in his good graces and if she broke it off with Draco, he would kill her. Merlin,  _Draco_ would kill her.  _Narcissa_ would kill her. Everywhere she turned, there were snakes—poised and ready to kill her.

And so she said, "I am loyal to King Draco, my one true love."

Her words stopped Voldemort in his tracks but she continued walking. She did not look over her should but, she could hear his smirk.

"Lady Granger...you manipulative girl. You may survive us yet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop, there it is.
> 
> That was super long. I didn't expect it to be that long. I tried to split it but, I didn't know where to split it. I tried to split before the smut but, that didn't work, and then right after the smut felt too short. So, you get this SUPER long chapter instead. Sorry, not sorry.
> 
> Anyway, next chapter is actually completely and totally written. You should get it by tomorrow. I'm currently writing chapter twelve, and I won't post that one until Tuesday, probably, because I want to finish up ALL of Arc One written, which means, Interlude too. And then, like I said, Arc Two probably won't be coming for a hot second.


	12. Chapter Eleven

Harry sat at the head of the table, keeping his eyes trained on McGonagall, Moody, and Fendwick. The fire in the fireplace had sparked into being, merrily as soon as McGonagall had finished her confirmation. Harry _seethed_.

The trio of Order elders stared right back at him, unflinching. They were brave. Or, rather, they underestimated Harry and his fury.

“You knew where he was this whole time and you didn’t say anything?” Remus growled, his amber eyes flashing a dangerous yellow. Harry watched, slightly alarmed by the hostility in the man’s typically gentle voice.

Tonks settled her hand on Remus’ hand and she cast him a careful look, squeezing tightly. Remus looked at her, instantly soothed. He turned his palm over, lacing their fingers together and he took a deep shuddering breath. When he opened his eyes again, he was calmer, though still slightly on edge.

“Remus…” Tonks said, gently.

Remus shook his head. “No. They knew all this time and left Harry _unprotected_ with Muggles. If you knew where he was, he should’ve been raised here, to be an effective leader.”

Marlene McKinnon sneered at Remus. Harry’s lips curled into a humorless grin. Whenever McKinnon spoke, his hackles rose. She was rude and dismissive and belittled whenever she had the chance. She whispered ‘whore’ whenever his head was turned into Emmeline Vance’s ear. According to Tonks, she and Charlie were the only curse breakers in the entire camp, which explained her presence.

“Why don’t you take the Big Bad Wolf out for a walk, Little Red?” McKinnon hissed, mockingly.

Tonks glared, pulling her crimson cloak tighter around her.

“Shut the fuck up, McKinnon, before I break your neck,” Tonks said, coldly.

The entire room stared. Remus squeezed Tonks’ hand tightly and Harry was suddenly struck by the fact that he had never seen anyone take issue with Tonks directly, except maybe McGonagall. Everyone tread carefully around her. Somehow, in some way, they viewed Tonks as _dangerous_.

McKinnon fell back in her chair and looked to McGonagall, carefully not looking at Tonks. Harry looked over at McGonagall.

“Why didn’t you ever check on me?” Harry asked, his voice soft.

“I knew you would be safe there from the Slytherin,” McGonagall said, her voice firm and brooking no argument. Harry fell back in his seat and let out a long sigh.

“Tell me what happened that day. Tell me _everything_ , please,” Harry said.

Every single person in the room watched McGonagall, waiting if she would grant his request. Slowly, McGonagall nodded, ignoring Moody’s grumbling.

“Princess Lily…was not a fugitive. Her mother and father sent her away because it was foretold in a prophecy that someone born of fire, snow and jewel would be killed for her heart and beauty. They locked her away in a tower,” McGonagall said without any inflection or tone of any kind and Harry wondered if that was her way of blocking all the pain like his sarcasm was a deflection of the pain too.

“They…locked her in the tower that Ron and Ginny found me at,” Harry decided and McGonagall looked slightly impressed that he had deduced that, though she really shouldn’t have been.

It was the only singular tower Harry knew of.

"Yes. Few people knew where she was. Only the kings and queens of old, the Gryffindor Consort, and…the Lord of Whispers, Albus Dumbledore knew. Lily grew to be…suicidal. She hated being trapped there and she viewed it as a prison. And so, Queen Helga thought it appropriate that she have a companion that returned every day. That companion was James Potter and they fell in love. They asked permission to marry, which the King Godric gladly gave. But, they needed witnesses. Your father was best friends with three men. Sir Remus Lupin, Sir Peter Pettigrew, and Heir Sirius Black. In their younger years, they called themselves the Marauders but were widely known just as Princess Lily's guard. The day that James brought the three to that tower was the beginning of the end," McGonagall whispered.

Harry frowned and then his eyes widened at the insinuation in her voice. He glared down at the glossy wooden table when suddenly he heard the screech of a chair being pushed back. He looked up, sharply and saw Remus standing. He looked devastated and he shook his head.

“I…I can’t. I can’t listen to this,” Remus whispered, harshly.

The man practically ran from the room and Harry swallowed. He looked to Tonks who looked at him, pleadingly. Harry nodded and Tonks rushed after the man that she seemed to care a great deal about. Harry sighed.

“One of them betrayed them. Black or Pettigrew.”

“I’ll be getting to that. After discovering Lily’s pregnancy, James told Albus, a midwife named Madam Pomfrey, and myself, in case he needed help. He could not tell the kings and queens for they would not trust a suicidal Lily to care for a child, especially when it had been conceived out of wedlock. So, he had kept it secret from them. And just a few weeks after your birth…the massacre occurred. Something within the Slytherin twins had snapped and with Lord Voldemort’s Death Eaters, they slaughtered the castle’s Guard and murdered King Godric, his Consort, and Queen Helga. King Salazar and Queen Rowena fled and Voldemort crowned Bellatrix queen,” McGonagall continued with her story and Harry leaned forward.

"Then, after you were born…Lily was somehow found and brutally murdered by Lord Voldemort. He left looking older than I but returned look much younger. He brought back Lily's heart in a brown bag and proclaimed that Sirius Black had been the Secret Keeper, but foolishly turned the right over to Peter Pettigrew who _betrayed_ them. Sirius was imprisoned and it was the next day that Albus could finally get away to retrieve you, Harry. We had been kept in the Great Hall until the Dark Lord returned. He sent me to scout out somewhere that you may live…if you had lived at all. And we placed you there…with the Muggles…in hope that their mundaneness would _protect_ you," McGonagall said and she sounded almost pleading as if she was practically begging for Harry to believe her.

Harry hummed, looking away. “So, you left me there.”

“Alastor, Benjy, and I came to the correct decision,” McGonagall said.

Harry leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “No. You didn’t.”

McGonagall finally faltered.

“What do you mean, boy?” Benjy Fendwick asked, keeping his gaze on Harry. Harry always felt filthy when the old man looked at him, slid his gaze over Harry’s body like he was a meal for public consumption. Like he _belonged_ to their gazes.

“I lived in a cold attic with hay for a bed. I was made to be a slave to Muggles, cooking and cleaning and gardening, from the age of five, when I could finally carry the bucket without splashing water everywhere. When I turned nine, a man told me, for the first time, what my mouth was made to do,” Harry drawled, staring at McGonagall, then Fendwick, and then finally Moody. “I was twelve the first time a woman called me ‘slut’ because she had caught her husband with my name on his lips. I have been harassed and slandered my entire life.”

Harry refused to look at the others’ horrified faces. Instead, he watched the elders, waiting for the response. McGonagall’s expression faltered first. Fendwick averted his gaze. Only Moody stared back at him.

“You spread your legs for the Dark Lord and you expect respect?” Moody said, darkly. “Men and women--good men and women--died because of that man. Albus Dumbledore _died_ because of that man. Your parents _died_ because of that man. And you are _surprised_ when people are angry? You are surprised when people call you what they see you as?”

Harry leaned forward, staring at Moody with unblinking green eyes.

“What do they call me?” Harry hissed, daring him to say it.

He _dared_ Moody to voice the words, to spit Harry’s insecurities back in his face, to spit Harry’s sacrifice in his face.

“A common _whore_ ,” Moody spat.

Harry sat back, his lips curling into a smile. Slowly, he drew his wand and tapped his chin.

“What did the Dark Lord say?” Harry whispered.

Moody’s lip curled. “While he fucking you?”

“No...you have to _mean_ it,” Harry spat, malice in his voice. Moody paused, staring at the boy-prince for a long moment.  “Alastor Moody, one day...and one day soon, I will be _tired_ of your shit. On that day, you will _beg_ for forgiveness from your Prince. You shall not get it.”

Slowly, he stood, his chair scraping across the grain wood. Without another word, Harry left the room. As soon as he shut the door behind him, he was running down the stairs, escaping through the front door. Harry ran through the tents, ignoring the bows and stares. They didn't understand. No one _understood_ , except _him_.

Harry almost didn’t see her. He skidded to a stop in front of the tall, horse-like woman as she knelt by the other laundresses, washing the ashes from her clothes.

“Your Highness,” the eldest said with a smile.

Harry smiled back at her and nodded. “Hello everyone!” he said, forcing a smile. His eyes fell on Aunt Petunia. She hadn’t looked at him. “Aunt Petunia.”

“Tch,” she said in the back of her throat.

Harry looked away and continued on through the camp, his heart beating in his ears. He saw a group of Muggle boys and girls tossing around a ball. Lavender sat at the edge of the field with her friends, Teddy cradled in her lap. Dudley sat just a distance away, a blank look in his eyes. Harry slowly walked up to him and sat down, glad that no one had noticed him yet.

“Hey, Dudley,” Harry said, his voice soft.

Dudley looked up, his nose wrinkling. Harry swallowed. Fuck, he still smelled like _sex_.

“Harry...your Highness,” Dudley corrected, his voice sour. “Prince of Gryffindor. They call you Harry Wildfyre. Whatever that means.”

Harry sat down beside Dudley, crossing his legs in the grass. He lifted his hand and called the Fire. Dudley’s widened in awe.

“It means that,” Harry said before extinguishing it with just another thought. “I’m sorry about your father. He didn’t deserve to die.”

“The Aurors did it. Decided to come to Little Whinging. If it weren’t for the Order, we’d be dead, me and Mum,” Dudley said, his voice nearly dead. He wheezed softly, his throat still burning from the smoke. He leaned back, picking at the grass blades. “I heard what you did. With the Dark Lord.”

Harry flushed. “Oh…”

“You know he came to Little Whinging looking for you. Was it ‘cause you’re the long lost Prince or whatever?” Dudley asked, still refusing to look at Harry.

Harry squirmed.

“It’s complicated,” Harry said, his voice soft. “But...that’s how I got here. It’s a really long story.”

“You know he killed Piers,” Dudley said, looking up at Harry, his eyes sharp. Harry faltered, flinching back. “When he came looking for you. He asked about you. He was going to kill me. And Piers told me not to tell him. So, he killed Piers. And then, I told him because I didn’t want to die too.”

“I don’t blame you for telling him,” Harry said, looking away.

“I blame you for Piers being dead, though. He was like my brother, you know. And he died, protecting you, and you didn’t even give him the time of day. Y’know he really liked you. Like actually liked you,” Dudley said, pointedly.

Harry looked down, hurt. “That’s not on me. I didn’t ask him to feel that way about me.”

“You didn’t have to _fuck_ his murderer either, Harry,” Dudley retorted.

Harry stood up, suddenly and Dudley looked up at him. He really looked at him.

Harry Wildfyre looked nothing like Harry Evans. Harry Wildfyre was stunning and smelled like smoke and sex. Harry Wildfyre radiated with power.

“This is war. I do what needs to be done,” Harry Wildfyre said.

Dudley watched him walk away and wept.

* * *

 

**MIRROR, MIRROR**

* * *

 

“ **Nagini…** ” Voldemort hissed as he reclined in his study.

He watched as the great snake slithered out of the pipe that entered into his room. She slid across the floor, sliding up his chair and settling herself over his shoulders, her great long body curling across his lap and ending on the floor, coiled. Nagini flicked her tongue near his ear in greeting. Voldemort took a long lip of wine.

“ **Master...welcome home**.” The green, yellow-eye snake hissed again. “ **You have missed much.** ”

Voldemort stared out to the Forbidden Forest, just past the gates, thinking of the Order.

“ **I know. Blood spilled by blood. New kings with new crowns. The empire is breaking,** ” Voldemort hissed to his trusted familiar, stroking her flat arrow-shaped head. She gave a long hiss of pleasure, appreciative. Voldemort’s lips curled into a smile.

“ **The diamond sister used blood magic, Master. She still uses it. It clings to her, like an ill-fitting skin that won’t shed,** ” Nagini hissed.

Voldemort growled low in his throat and he took another sip of the wine. He looked past the gates. He had fucked the Fairest. It felt like weeks ago when it was really only hours. So much had changed in the past week or so. His sister had been dead for four days before Lady Granger had sent out the falcon. His sister was _dead_.

“ **I am sworn to the Prince of Gryffindor now, my sweet. Sworn to the Fairest. I work with the Order now,** ” Voldemort hissed and Nagini curled over his shoulder, her heavy body falling on the table, her piercing yellow eyes staring in his own crimson orbs.

“ **Why, Master? You betray your brethren?** ”

“ **They betrayed me first, my sweet,** ” Voldemort said coldly. He drained the rest of his goblet, staring around at the tomes of the Darkest Arts.

Had his youngest sister snuck into his study? Had she found the spell, the ritual, to murder their sister in his own rooms?

Voldemort closed his eyes. He thought about the Fairest. The Fairest's tight heat, surrounding him. The Fairest's green eyes boring into his. The Fairest who had looked like a doll; a broken, little doll. Voldemort would take porcelain and spin it into steel. Voldemort would fashion a crown out of the broken pieces that made up the boy-prince.

“Brother?”

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed as his door creaked open. His wand was in his hand, glowing a dangerous green. He could hear his twin sister, gasping for air, choking on the blood that bubbled from her mouth. She would look at him, frothing, telling him to kill her with her eyes even as she choked on her own death.

But, then he heard another voice. A voice that made him think of pleasure and fire. A void that made Voldemort greedy.

_And you shall be unmade, Kingmaker._

“Narcissa,” Voldemort hissed, sliding his wand back up his sleeve.

Narcissa pushed the door open. Voldemort admired her. She was beautiful. Long platinum hair hung to her waist. Part of her hair was twisted into a simple Northern style. She looked like their mother, in her navy robes.

Voldemort’s smile resembled a grimace.

“I sometimes forget that you were the one meant to inherit. The only one with the snake’s tongue,” Narcissa said, her voice wistful and nostalgic as she remembered a happier time.

Voldemort felt a stab of bitterness; those times had never been happy for him. When the Founders had ruled, his twin sister’s sanity had been slipping, his second sister had found satisfaction when he could not, and the youngest...well, she had become the woman before him. Willing to slaughter her own blood for her son’s advancement.

“Only the oldest receives the gift,” Voldemort whispered.

Narcissa smiled, nodding. "And only the powerful receive a familiar," she went on.

"Powerful? I think the one that endures. Eating a raw snake heart as an eleven-year-old wasn't the most enjoyable moment of my life," Voldemort said. Even still, he remembered the taste. It was not the same as a human heart, more oily and a thousand times more revolting.

"I made the attempt. I nearly lasted to the end...I had hoped that I could, like you," Narcissa murmured. She trailed off, embarrassed by her short-comings. Voldemort cocked a silent eyebrow but, she shook her head. "Even Lily was able to do it."

“There was no one else if she didn’t. And even she was different,” Voldemort said.

He remembered Lily’s ceremony well. She had devoured the lion heart without a care, slurping the fat as if she were born to do so. She had licked her fingers clean, the little lioness. Then, she had vomited it back up, chunks of raw meat staining the front of her dress. Her vomit had turned to fire and a phoenix had exploded from it. Fawkes had never left her side until she had been stolen away to a tower.

“Shall we go to the council meeting now?” Narcissa asked.

Voldemort nodded, hissing softly to Nagini. She drew her body off of Voldemort’s, keeping Narcissa in the yellow line of her sight. He offered his arm to his sister and she took it, tucking her self into his side. They left his office, which locked behind him. He would have to put in new wards; wards that only allowed him and not anyone that shared his blood.

“Your son is a brat, Narcissa,” he said as they walked down the Gargoyle Corridor, just a few feet towards the council room. Narcissa jerked against her brother’s side. “He is a vicious, spoiled child.”

“What do you mean?” Narcissa rasped.

“He dishonored his future lady-wife. He continues to dishonor her. He beats her. Humiliates her. Is this how we treat a queen in Albion? Is this how a king behaves?” Voldemort asked, as if speaking to a child.

He watched her flush, splotchy embarrassment all over her cheeks. It made her ugly, for just a moment. He found pleasure in that, no matter how petty the feeling was.

“He is still learning, brother. And you have just returned. You will show him. Please, give him a chance,” Narcissa begged, squeezing tight on Voldemort’s arm. Voldemort shook her clear off his arm and Narcissa flinched. He rolled his shoulders back as he stared down at the gargoyle to the council room.

“Blood of my blood,” he said, pointedly.

The gargoyle didn’t shift.

“The new password is... _dragon’s light_. For Draco’s name,” Narcissa said, apologetically. The gargoyle lept to the side and Voldemort ground his teeth as he stormed up the steps, straight into the council room.

He paused. Draco sat in the middle of the table, the two chairs on either side of him open for his mother and Voldemort. Narcissa swept forward, whispering secrets and control in the ear of her unruly, power-drunk son. Voldemort sneered at his little beast of a nephew.

“There have been some changes,” Voldemort observed. He looked around the room, his eyes falling on Walden MacNair, Rodolphus Lestrange, and Antonin Dolohov, the only three Death Eaters that still remained on the council.

“The King has decided that a council position change would beneficial to the overall effectiveness of his reign, my Lord,” Antonin Dolohov said, leaning forward. He was now sitting in Rodolphus’ seat. “Sir Blaise of the Gaulish House Zabini now sits as Lord of Whispers. Walden remains Commander of the Navy and Vincent remains as interim Commander of the Archers.”

Voldemort looked around the table, cataloging the changes. Blaise Zabini, the foreign Gaulish boy, tried to hide his fear but, he had not been faced with the Dark Lord before and he had seen how easily he had cursed Theodore Nott. Narcissa looked like a diamond.

“I...see,” Voldemort hissed.

Carefully, he walked upon the dais and sat in his seat, looking pointedly at Draco.

“I call this council meeting to order,” Draco intoned.

The magic flared and Voldemort cleared his throat as the map before them came alive, land masses rising, House strongholds appearing. He memorized all of the position changes. This would be useful for the Order, for the Prince of Gryffindor.

“I must say I’m unamused with your changes, Draco,” Voldemort drawled. Draco flushed, looking over at his mother but, Narcissa nudged him gently. “Why do you call us here tonight so late?”

“Before we begin on official matters, I’d like to summon _all_ of the noble Houses that are not already at court. Their Lords should affirm their loyalty to _me_ , their King,” Draco said, sharply.

Voldemort hummed. The first thing his nephew had said and it was mildly intelligent. And it would _certainly_ make Hogwarts Castle a little more interesting.

“You have families in mind, nephew,” Voldemort said. It wasn’t a question.

Draco nodded. “Within days of my coronation, nearly all of the Houses sent out falcons to swear the fealty. All except House Longbottom.”

“Did you expect them to?” Voldemort drawled. “You are the son of the woman that made the House nearly extinct.”

Narcissa straightened in her chair. “I did what I must.”

“I didn’t say you didn’t,” Voldemort retorted. He looked to his nephew. “I approve this idea. We shall send out missives within the next two days. We will summon House Longbottom with a falcon and the other noble Houses with owls. Zabini, as Lord of Whispers, you will do this.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Blaise said, quietly.

He watched. He was like Severus in that way. Always observing. Manipulating the crown from afar. Voldemort would watch him.

“Now, what occurred in the meeting that I was absent for?” the Dark Lord asked.

“Our Lady Mother, the Lady of the Coin, and I have discussed imposing a war tax on the people of Albion,” Draco said.

Macnair leaned forward, nodding. “My Lord, is an idea that we, as the remaining representatives of the Death Eaters, fully support.”

Draco looked at Voldemort, all wilful arrogance. Voldemort's lips curled into a humorless smile. He glanced at Narcissa. She was still as stone. Amongst the table, she had known him the longest. She could see the way he seethed. She played ignorance. Voldemort knew that Narcissa whispered her plans into her son's head. Voldemort held out his hand for the parchment.

Narcissa passed him the proposal, her signature marking her agreement as the Lady of the Coin. He scanned it, the ludicrous proposal growing more ludicrous as he read. Narcissa had not proposed this. She wasn’t stupid enough for that. That meant it was Draco’s idea and she insisted on it only to satisfy her boy. Voldemort vaguely recalled a remark that his nephew had made upon his return about a Gaulish tax. He gazed at Zabini for just a moment.

“What say you, Lord Rodolphus?” Voldemort asked, carefully, looking to the only man that he trusted in the room.

The Lord of House Lestrange rolled his eyes up from the map. “I think it foolish. I think the king foolish,” he spat.

Draco’s eyes widened.

"You will hold your tongue when speaking about his Grace," Narcissa snarled, ever the protective mother. Sometimes, Voldemort imagined her more bear than a snake.

“I think I agree with Lord Rodolphus’ assessment,” Voldemort decided.

Narcissa faltered, looking at him hesitantly. Draco turned red.

“W-what do you mean?” the king sputtered.

“A war fund is meaningless when we could take a loan from Gringotts to fund the war. The task of collecting more money will be more expensive than the tax itself,” Voldemort said, dismissively. “Who will pay the tax collectors? How many tax collectors? This requires knowing _every_ family within the kingdom, I expect. Who will conduct a census? How will we pay for _that_?”

Rodolphus nodded in agreement.

"Furthermore, should we do more to incite the rage of the Order? We have already been promptly beaten by the order in your first endeavor to collect a tax," Rodolphus said, pointedly. His voice was twisted just so, the mockery on the edges of his voice. Draco's lips curled into a sneer.

“Ah, yes, the ravaging of Little Whinging,” Voldemort said.

Both his sister and nephew seemed surprised that he already knew what had occurred. Of course, Nagini had access to the entire castle. His sweet little familiar was quite the spy. After all, he’d been quite preoccupied with fucking the little minx that had cried so prettily. The little broken Fairest. Merlin, he had been good, for a virgin. Voldemort burned with need.

Harry Potter was not someone to be enjoyed only once.

“The King wished to use us.”

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed on Lord Rodolphus. Rodolphus was staring at Antonin with suspicious eyes. Severus would need to keep an eye on Antonin. Voldemort remembered his deal suddenly. Harry wanted Antonin dead. He wondered why.

“Use _you_? _My_ Death Eaters?” Voldemort asked, rolling his head over to look at Draco.

Draco looked at him, haughty and uptight. “They are men of the realm.”

Voldemort rolled his eyes.

“What did you say, Rodolphus?” Voldemort asked.

“We do not belong to him, my Lord, no matter what _some_ of us seem to believe,” Lord Lestrange said, staring pointedly at Antonin and Walden. “We serve a great man. Not a child who torments, in front of the whole court,  the innocent woman that he is meant to marry.”

Draco turned on Rodolphus, baring his teeth.

“I torment whomever I _like_. You’d do well to remember that, you scarred monster,” Draco snarled. Voldemort watched him, amused. Just like his mother, vain and proud with their unblemished faces. Voldemort had always thought there was beauty in scars, like the scar on the Fairest’s forehead.

Rodolphus laughed, long and hard. “Oh. ‘Monster’. Perhaps, you should speak to me more softly then. Monsters are dangerous and, just now, royals are dying like _flies_.”

There was a long, tense silence. Narcissa slammed her fist on the table, angrily.

“Rodolphus, how inappropriate!” Walden called.

“You must apologize to his Grace, immediately,” Zabini said in his Gaulish accent, slimy and terrible.

Narcissa trembled with her rage, attempting to grab a hold of herself. Voldemort gave a cold smile.

“I will have you tortured,” Draco said, pointing a finger. Narcissa reached up, grabbing his hand and patting on Draco’s hand, trying to calm him as she had calmed herself.

“Let him make his jests, my love. He is a fool. A _replaceable_ one,” Narcissa bit out.

Rodolphus snorted. “Replace me then.”

“I will have your _head_!” Draco roared, jumping to his feet and glaring at the defiant Lord of House Lestrange. “I am the king! I will punish you!”

Voldemort rolled his eyes. “Any man who must say ‘I am the king’ is no true king,” Voldemort taunted. “I’ll make sure you understand that when I’ve won your war.”

“My mother and father won the real war! They subdued and crushed any enemies that sought to rise against us while you hid in Hogwarts Castle, babying your frothing, mad sister!”

Voldemort froze. He had never quite felt fury akin to this. Maybe once. In the face of his father. It felt akin to ice sliding through his veins. Narcissa’s breath had caught disappeared altogether, she was so still. Draco swallowed, muted terror twisting his face. Voldemort never took his gaze off that pointed face. The boy used to look so much like his father. Now, he looked like Narcissa. Like Bellatrix, in a strange way.

“The king is tired. See him to his chambers, Narcissa,” Voldemort said.

Narcissa rose immediately. Quietly, she urged, “Adjourn the meeting, my love. And come along.”

She pulled him to his feet and Draco, confusedly said, “Meeting adjourned. Mother, I’m not tired.”

“We have so much to do, my love. A wedding to plan. You must rest. We will meet with your future bride in the morning,” Narcissa insisted.

Even as Draco adjourned the meeting, none of the Lords of the Council moved, watching. Voldemort was still as Narcissa dragged Draco around the table and towards the door, as if she were fleeing Voldemort herself.

“Perhaps some Dreamless Sleep Potion to aide him,” Voldemort suggested, coldly.

Even as Draco was pulled down the stairs, his voice echoed, “I’m not... _TIRED!_ ”

Voldemort rose to his feet and the Lords followed his example. Dolohov and Macnair walked out together, head bent, whispering secrets. Lord Rodolphus nodded and bowed to his Lord, dutiful. He left swiftly. Voldemort tilted his head. He imagined that the Lord of House Lestrange would either be off to tell his younger brother of what had happened or to see the girl.

Voldemort had the urge to see a woman. He wondered how she would respond to his uninvited visit.

* * *

 

**ON**

* * *

 

“Knock. Knock.”

Andromeda did not look up from her letter immediately. She continued checking it over for mistakes, making sure that her orders to Regulus were perfect before she signed with a flourish, her full name: Princess Andromeda of House Slytherin, Warden of the West. She looked up to see her maids--her hard, refined, well-trained maids--giggling as they fell into low curtseys. Andromeda rolled her eyes.

“The cock of Hogwarts Castle returns,” Andromeda drawled. Voldemort smirked as he swaggered into her sitting room, falling onto the loveseat opposite her chair.

“You wound me, Dromeda,” Voldemort said, full of false hurt. He rolled his eyes.

Andromeda frowned at the familiar nickname as she folded her letter and pulled her wand. She touched the tip of her wand to the envelope and her wax seal appeared, the official glaive and wand of the Warden of the West in yellow. Voldemort had not called her ‘Dromeda' in many years. She remembered a time when he had had nicknames for all of them. Bella, Cissy, Dromeda, and Tom. That was gone now. He had destroyed that, taking the name of Voldemort, divorcing Tom from the sins of the Dark Lord.

Her stomach churned. Every time she looked at her brother, anger surged through her. But, she held her tongue, refusing to lash out. She was a Slytherin. She would have some sort of composure. She was a Slytherin.

“We should break our fast together, Dromeda. I have not seen you in so long. You dine in your rooms. Eat with the court,” Voldemort insisted. He paused, as if he were thinking better of his words. “Rather. Will you do me the honor of joining me for breakfast?”

He was _asking_. Andromeda swallowed her shock and pursed her lips, sour like a lemon. She couldn't deny him in front of her servants. He wouldn't have that. Instead, she risked agreement and nodded. She held up her finger, snapping. Three of the maids scrambled to attend to her, pushing and shoving. Andromeda rolled her eyes. The young ones were always a pain until they learned better.

The maid who won was pretty and efficient enough. She had long, curly dark hair and large dark eyes. She flushed under the Dark Lord’s gaze.

“Lady Warden,” she said in greeting. She turned to the Dark Lord and whispered, coquettishly, “My Lord.”

Andromeda rolled her eyes.

“Hello there, pretty thing. What is your name?” the Dark Lord asked.

Her maid smiled, sweetly. “Romilda, m’lord.”

Voldemort reached up, dragging his fingertips across the maid’s cheek, tracing the curve of her jaw.

“If your lady permits it, perhaps you shall tend to me tonight, Romilda,” Voldemort said. He slowly turned his gaze onto Andromeda. Romilda looked at her, pleading.

Andromeda waved her hand dismissively.

“If that is what you wish, my Lord,” Romilda giggled.

“Romilda, I called you for a reason,” the Lady Warden barked. She held out her letter, pressing it into Romilda’s waiting fingers. “An owl to Lord Regulus will be sufficient.”

Romilda nodded and she darted off, most likely to brag to the other maids before doing as she was big. Voldemort hummed.

“How _is_ our cousin?” Voldemort asked.

“As well as can be expected. He was the second son. He did not know how to be Lord but, he has learned well in the past decade or so. He misses his brother,” Andromeda said, pointedly.

Voldemort frowned. “Regulus learned well from his brother’s _mistakes_ ,” Voldemort retorted and he pulled his wand, twisting it through the air. “ _Muffliato_.”

So, this would be a private conversation. Andromeda stiffened, even more on guard.

“Even after these many years, you still must bed every pretty thing that you see?” Andromeda asked, callous.

Her brother had always been greedy--greedy for power, greedy for attention, greedy for beauty, and greedy for pleasure. It was probably his most defining trait to those that knew him, truly knew him. He couldn’t help but gorge himself on others.

"Not many can make a claim to bedding the most beautiful creature in the world," Voldemort smirked. Andromeda's rage, ever present, all consuming, was pushed aside in favor of curiosity.

“The most beautiful creature in the world?” Andromeda asked.

“The Fairest of Them All,” Voldemort said, inspecting his fingernails, casually.

Andromeda tried not to gasp but the sharp inhale was telling enough. Voldemort smirked as he continued to inspect his hands.

“The Prewett twins called the Prince of Gryffindor that. The true King. They called him many things,” Andromeda said, her gaze stern. She leaned forward, searching for the lies. She knew her brother. He didn’t have many tells but, she could _feel_ it when he lied. She could taste it on her tongue, like sourdough. “You bedded him. How?”

Voldemort tilted his head, as if wondering how to go about it. Andromeda waited, her body tense. He was also so much more controlled in front of her. He was right to be. She could taste his emotions on the back of her tongue, could dissect him very well.

“How about...you tell me something. And then, I must tell me something. We’ll make a game of it,” Voldemort decided. Andromeda nodded.

“I’ve learned not to play games with you, _Dark Lord_ ,” Andromeda taunted.

Voldemort smirked. “You’d like to play this one.”

“I don’t like much of anything anymore. Not since you burned my life around my ears,” Andromeda snarled, her voice rough with old pain that felt like it had only happened six seconds ago.

“You’ll like this game,” Voldemort promised.

“I’ll humor you,” Andromeda bit out. “What do you want me to tell you?”

“Tell me why you left us.”

Andromeda froze. In all their years, her brother had never asked that question. He had made assumptions, screamed and hollered and cast assumptions.

“I was tired. Tired of everything. We were plotting to murder the Founders...our own _father._ I delivered Helena to you on a silver platter and I’ve always regretted that. I dream, still, about you ripping the girl’s heart out. I dream about what you did to Lily. It was too much. I was tired of being the _monster_ they said that we were. There was too much red on my hands and I wanted something pure,” Andromeda confessed.

Voldemort sneered. “Your husband was anything but _pure_.”

“I loved him,” she said, as if it explained everything. “I know you haven’t ever loved a thing in your life besides your own reflection but, when you love someone... _really_ love them, none of it matters.”

Voldemort's lips twitched into a smile. Andromeda frowned, wondering what the joke was. What about her words had been funny? She swallowed. Talking about Ted made her insides ache, made her bones feel too big for her skin.

“Very well,” Voldemort sighed.

“Tell me. How did you come to find yourself balls deep in the Prince of Gryffindor?”

Voldemort snorted. “How _crass_.”

“Stop it. Tell me now. Aren’t we playing a game?” Andromeda demanded. She leaned forward, folding her hands together in her lap.

Voldemort leaned back, throwing his arm over the back of the loveseat.

“All good things come in threes, Dromeda. You know that. First, Helena. Then, Lily. He was to be the third. His heart would have granted me eternal life,” Voldemort said, staring far away. Andromeda tilted her head, intrigued. His voice grew soft when he spoke about the Fairest. “I know it was you. You told Lady Granger about Narcissa. She told me.”

Andromeda stiffened. “So?”

"You knew she would tell me. Her little maid owes me a debt. You remember," Voldemort said, staring at Andromeda with those crimson eyes that pulled her apart until she was nothing but, blood, bones, and grief. "Narcissa killed our sister."

“What does that have to do with the Fairest?” Andromeda barked.

“He escaped me twice. The first time, he ran to the Order. The second...he took me _to_ the Order. Bellatrix was dead, slaughtered by our sister. They wanted to kill me. Kill you. Kill my Death Eaters. Kill the empire that I have forged from beautiful bones and Helena’s blood. I struck a deal,” Voldemort said, sharply.

Andromeda stared, waiting. “What kind of deal?”

“He called me ‘Kingmaker’. Wanted me to make him into a King. I told him I would in exchange for mercy, vengeance, and his innocence. He knew that if I so wanted to, I could leave. Disappear into nothingness. I chose power,” Voldemort said and he leaned forward, his eyes fluttering as he finally allowed himself to think about the Fairest. Harry _Potter._ “Harry Potter is a broken thing. I’ve always liked broken things. It’s easy to mend them. But, this will take more than a _Reparo_.”

“What have you _done_?” Andromeda hissed.

She didn’t doubt his words. Voldemort wouldn’t make up something so _stupid_.

“What needs to be done,” Voldemort said, his voice cold.

“You…”

“Me,” Voldemort interrupted. “I told you because I would have you swear fealty to the King of Gryffindor. As Warden of the West, pledge your lands and cause to him.”

“ _Why_ would I do anything for _you_? Why would I betray Narcissa?” Andromeda snarled, dangerous as the snake of their House. Voldemort glared at her, grinding his perfect white teeth.

“She killed our _sister_. She betrayed the blood!” Voldemort barked.

"And so did you!" Andromeda broke. She leaped to her feet, pulling her wand and pointing it at Voldemort's face. He didn't move. "You killed my daughter! Your niece! A child of House Slytherin! You killed a _child_ , _Tom_. _My_ child!”

Voldemort’s face betrayed nothing. He slowly stood to his feet.

“Send your maid to my rooms,” he said.

Andromeda snarled. “You cannot _leave_. We’re having a conver--”

"Her hair shifts when she is angry. She looks like you. Looks like Bellatrix. Except, her natural hair is a few shades lighter than yours," Voldemort said, looking thoughtful. "She wears her hair pink and a crimson cloak. Like the one you think you hid from me when I took you away. I know you sleep with it under your pillow. Did you make it for her?"

Andromeda’s bottom lip quivered. “Ted did...w-what?”

Voldemort walked towards the door and he stopped, looking over his shoulder just before he left.

“I would not slay my own blood. Nymphadora Tonks sends her regards.”

Andromeda didn’t even notice when she had begun to cry.

* * *

 

**THE WALL**

* * *

 

“Lady Warden...Lady Warden, it’s time to break your fast. You are joining the court this morning.”

Andromeda had not slept. She rolled over in her bed, watching her maid through shrewd, bloodshot eyes. Romilda walked across Andromeda's rooms, pulling out cosmetics and brushes and combs and a gown of silk and iron, high-necked and conservative. Perfect for the morning. Today, Andromeda would be doing battle with all of the court.

“I am awake,” Andromeda said, her voice rough. She pushed the comforter off and sat up in bed, stuffing the red children’s cloak further under her pillows.

Instead, she watched Romilda, carefully. Romilda was limping. She looked exhausted but, sated. Andromeda scanned her. There were love bites along her neck, disappearing down to her breasts. She hadn’t healed them. Neither had Voldemort. Andromeda didn’t expect him to. Her brother was inconsiderate like that.

“How was your night with the Dark Lord?”

Romilda looked up, a pretty flush spreading on her face as she waved her wand, the long gown falling over the mannequin, ready to be worn as soon as Andromeda could be assed to get up and braid her hair.

Romilda’s lips tilted into a smile. Andromeda recognized that smile from her youth. All the silly girls and boys that had spent a night in Lord Voldemort’s bed wore that smile. They told themselves that the Dark Lord would choose them. That he would be satisfied with only them. Andromeda had always told them that they were just stories. The Dark Lord was never satisfied. He would _never_ be satisfied. Andromeda was always proven right when they went to the Dark Lord again and he all but forgot their name.

Andromeda sighed. She genuinely liked her flighty maid. Romilda was a bit of a dolt but, she was obedient and she showed talent with her wand. Talent in glamours and charms but, even that could prove useful.

“It was enjoyable, Lady Warden,” Romilda said, her voice soft.

Andromeda leaned forward, her lips curled into a taunting smile. “He calls them ‘whore’ in his bed. ‘Whore’ and ‘cockslut’ and ‘needy’ and ‘his’. Did he call you these things, Romilda? Was he rough with you? Make you take it like a prostitute?”

Andromeda couldn’t help her malice. Romilda flushed in humiliation. It took quite a lot to humiliate Romilda. Andromeda nearly felt accomplished.

“I...he didn’t speak at all, Lady Warden,” Romilda whispered.

Andromeda slid out of her bed, her heavy dressing gown dragging across the floor as she walked to her vanity. “Then, Romilda, why do you blush?”

“He called me by a name...when he finished,” Romilda whispered.

Andromeda paused for just a moment before she sat down before the mirror. Slowly, she began to braid her hair behind her ears, braiding it tight to her head. Romilda gathered the hair atop her head and began to fishtail it back.

“I have heard many stories about my brother’s prowess in bed. He does not call names. He doesn’t care for the women or men that he fucks. They are warm holes for him to put his oversized ego in,” Andromeda spat.

Romilda paused and Andromeda did feel regret, then. She swallowed it, along with the bitterness and bile. She would not apologize. The Warden of the West, Andromeda of House Slytherin, did not apologize. She looked up at Romilda. The girl was keeping her eyes trained on the braid. Andromeda could see her fingers trembling.

“You’re...you’re right, Lady Warden,” Romilda said, barely above a whisper. She resumed braiding and when she finished, she weaved chain through it, iron and steel.

Andromeda waited patiently and then she stood, allowing Romilda to dress her, binding her in pale blue silk that showed the lines of her body but the fabric was strengthened by pieces of iron that made her appear as if she were wearing armor. She was untouchable. The Warden of the West.

_Nymphadora Tonks sends her regards._

Andromeda shivered as Romilda buttoned the dress along her spine.

“What was the name, Romilda?” Andromeda asked, looking over her shoulder.

Romilda swallowed. “Harry. He called me ‘Harry’.”

And then, Romilda was gone, face bright red. Andromeda sighed. She would have to give something nice to the girl. A new bauble of some sort to express her apology. But, Andromeda had got the information she had wanted. She picked up her wand and moved towards the door.

_Harry Potter. The Fairest._

Her brother had truly gone and joined the Order. _Nymphadora Tonks sends her regards._ Andromeda didn’t think she’d ever told Voldemort Ted’s last name. Harry Potter was the key. Her brother had truly _defected._ He had asked her to pledge fealty.

He wanted to save her.

_Nymphadora Tonks sends her regards._

* * *

 

**WHO**

* * *

 

Hermione was not going to supper. She had not been hungry after yesterday’s events before the court. She ached with bruises. Luna had tried to force soup down her throat for supper but, Hermione had only taken a single bit before she felt sick again. She had gone to breakfast and eaten only after being goaded by Princess Andromeda; Hermione had been surprised to see her breaking fast at court. All day Hermione had wandered through Hogwarts, avoiding Theodore Nott and her stepbrother and betrothed. She had even escaped Luna.

Hermione had hoped to catch the Dark Lord’s attention but, he ignored her, disappearing with Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape.

Hermione winced when she turned the corner and nearly collided with an Auror. She looked up. There were four of them, all surrounding Princess Narcissa.

Narcissa didn’t seem surprised to see her. Her expression was cold, her lip curled as always. She had always seemed to be disgusted with one thing or another. Hermione suspected that this time, it was because she was once more confronted with her son’s Mudblood bride-to-be.

“Hermione, sweet girl, what are you doing _here_ alone?” Narcissa said, her voice so soft.

Hermione looked around, nervously. She swallowed. She was near the room that Hermione had first found Narcissa doing blood magic. When she had met Nagini for the first time. Hermione bit her lower lip and frowned.

“I-I’m not sure, your Highness.”

Narcissa gave a pretty frown, pouting her lips. She took a step forward. She looked so delicately beautiful, as if a sharp wind would shatter her into a million pieces. Hermione knew she was anything but in her dark navy robes. The point of her wand peeked out of her long sweeping sleeves.

“You’re not _sure_ , my dear?” Narcissa murmured. “Are you feeling quite alright?”

Hermione nodded once. “I’m feeling well, your Highness. Just...fine…”

Hermione trailed off as Narcissa turned away and walked towards the door, her secret room. Hermione glanced at the Aurors. Narcissa hadn’t had them last time. Perhaps, with her brother back in the castle, she feared for her safety. According to Luna, Narcissa was right to. Narcissa spun around, her wand falling into her hand, and she peered into Hermione’s eyes, as if she were curious.

Two Muggle Aurors in nondescript armor and heavy chain. Two wizard Aurors, in battle leathers and chainmail. They all had broadswords. They could run her through at a moment’s notice, Hermione knew. Narcissa wouldn’t hesitate if she knew all the things that Hermione knew. If she knew that Hermione had seen her performing _blood_ magic, and suddenly, Queen Bellatrix was dead.

“Your Occlumency is dreadful, sweet girl,” Narcissa said, her voice hard. The soft delicate nature disappeared, leaving frost.

Hermione’s eyes widened and she took a step back, averting her gaze. Narcissa’s lips tilted into a smile that sent shivers down Hermione’s spine. Narcissa knew. Narcissa _knew_.

Hermione straightened, her dark eyes defiant, all masks of the broken, lost, _stupid_ girl gone.

“I don’t have a wand on me,” Hermione said, voice hard.

Narcissa laughed. “That’s well and good, isn’t it? You’re barely better than a Muggle without it. I do not see why my son wants you. Perhaps, it is because you bruise so _prettily_ ," Narcissa said, pressing a hand to the green bruise on the underside of Hermione's jaw. Hermione hissed in pain.

She did not flinch away.

“Your son is a _beast_ ,” Hermione bit out.

“Careful, girl,” Narcissa barked, pulling her hand away, dragging it down Hermione’s neck, over her breast and then finally it fell away. “You are powerless here. I know your secrets.”

“And I know _yours_. Knowledge is power, especially when it can destroy your enemies,” Hermione retorted. Her stomach rolled. Bile was threatening to choke her. Hermione refused to look down the hallway, refused to search for someone to save her.

Narcissa looked at her, unimpressed. Hermione waited for her to call her bluff, but the Princess didn't. She turned away, disinterested, and Hermione could finally breathe again, her rib cage expanding with life.

“Seize her.”

Hermione gasped when the two Muggle Aurors grabbed onto her arms, roughly. She struggled against them and they flew back. Hermione’s eyes widened. She hadn’t done accidental magic since she was a girl. Narcissa looked at her, her bright eyes delighted and she nodded. The two wizard Aurors raised their wands.

“ _Petrificus Totalus_.”

Hermione went stiff, her arms snapping tight to either side of her. Her eyes darted around, wildly, her scream frozen in her chest. Narcissa tilted her head.

“Slit her throat. Slowly, mind you. I’d like it to be slow,” Narcissa decided.

Hermione tried to close her eyes but, couldn’t. She watched as steel slid against steel as a dagger was unsheathed. She was going to die. She was going to _die_ , painfully and without her wand. Hermione didn't believe in any gods, not like the Albion people nor like Fleur and her sister. Hermione hoped Fleur was her through her stupid spinning wheel. She hoped Fleur saw the fate she condemned her friend to. She didn't want her friend to feel guilty. She wanted her to know that just because she could speak languages of past, present, and future, didn't mean she should. Hermione was going to die, alone and friendless, in a country that wasn't hers.

She felt cool metal against her throat.

“Wait! I’ve changed my mind. Release her!” Narcissa laughed. Hermione heard the countercurse muttered and she staggered, nearly crumpling to the floor. She stared at Narcissa, terrified. “Take three steps back. Turn around. Close your eyes. Hold your ears.”

Hermione watched as every order was followed without a single complaint. Narcissa looked pleased. It was the most expressive look that Hermione had seen on her face yet. This demure and submissive woman did not exist. There was only diamond. This woman that was domineering and cold, and _everything_.

Narcissa walked up to the shaking girl and smoothed out her skirts. She smiled, the same maternal smile she gave Draco. She tipped Hermione’s head up with a single finger.

“My dear girl,” she whispered, affectionately. “ _Power_ is power.”

* * *

 

**IS**

* * *

 

Luna sat on the windowsill, staring out into the Quad, center of the Hogwarts Castle. The great tree standing in the middle was so large and old, the branches scratched at Luna’s cheeks. The night was stiller than she remembered it. The stones, the wet grass, and the tree looked beautiful bathed in the celestial light. If Luna craned her neck, she could see her namesake through the branches and the leaves.

Luna liked the night. The moon looked the same as it had in the city-states.

She swung her legs, dangling them outside the window. Her legs bounced against the solid stones, scraping gently.

“Luna.”

Luna looked over her shoulder. Her solemn expression melted away and her lips curved into a goofy smile. The man looked down at her. He didn’t smile. He was not the smiling kind of man but, there was a twinkle in his eyes. He wasn’t unhappy to see her.

“Lord Lestrange,” Luna greeted.

The man moved towards her and leaned against the frame of the open window. His chest pressing against her back and Luna relaxed into the man’s heat.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Okay. Rodolphus,” Luna corrected herself. She slowly stood on the sill and his hands flashed out, fingers wrapping around her tiny waist. She turned to look down at the beautifully scarred man.

He was in no rush to release her and she was in no rush to escape him. They enjoyed the silence together. Luna didn’t want to talk. There were times when she could go on and on and on about what the nargles and wrackspurts told her. And then, there were the moments when she wished the entire world silent and it did as she bid.

“Luna, why aren’t you asleep?”

“ _Ah, Moon — and Star!_

_You are very far —_

_But were no one_

_Farther than you —_

_Do you think I'd stop_

_For a Firmament —_

_Or a Cubit — or so?_ ” Luna recited, mumbles and rambles. Rodolphus took a step closer. Even with her on the tall windowsill, she was only just a height with him. He brushed his lips against both of her cheeks.

“You’re tired. I think you should sleep,” Rodolphus said.

Luna closed her eyes, shaking her head.

“ _I could borrow a Bonnet_

_Of the Lark —_

_And a Chamois' Silver Boot —_

_And a stirrup of an Antelope —_

_And be with you — Tonight!_ ”

“Luna—” Rodolphus began and Luna pressed her fingers to Rodolphus’s lips, feeling his breathing against her skin. Luna shuddered as she stared into his mismatched eyes. She brought a finger up to his scar, tracing it down.

Rodolphus relaxed under her touch.

_“But, Moon, and Star,_

_Though you're very far —_

_There is one — farther than you —_

_He — is more than a firmament — from Me —_

_So I can never go!”_

Rodolphus pulled her forward, nearly lifting her off the stone. Luna tangled her fingers in his hair and clung to him.

“I am never far from you,” Rodolphus swore and Luna smiled, sweetly.

She ran her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp.

“Recite poetry to me. Isn’t that part of courtly love? Or so the wrackspurts tell me,” Luna said, teasing the scarred man. Rodolphus only snorted.

He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

“You trying to trick me into thinking that you’re alright after rambling that poem?” Rodolphus asked.

Luna glared down at him, jerking out of his hold. She caught herself on the windowsill before she tumbled out into the branches of the single tree.

“My ramblings belong to the wrackspurts,” Luna said, sharply. She hopped off the windowsill and she moved to walk away. A hand wrapped around her wrist, yanking her back.

“And I belong to you,” Rodolphus whispered. “Why aren’t you asleep, Luna?”

Luna clung to him. “I was sleeping. I dreamt of the city-states.”

“Good dreams?” Rodolphus whispered.

“No.” Luna’s voice cracked. “I… today, they _hurt_. Make it go away.”

Luna knew that he couldn't. The monsters wouldn't go away and the both knew it. But, he did understand what she was asking. Rodolphus backed her up against the wall and pressed two kisses to her eyelids, brushing his lips down her cheekbones and a peck on her cheeks. He pressed a kiss to each side of her neck before he licked his way into her mouth and Luna pulled him tight against her. She didn't care that he was probably hurting his neck. It didn't matter.

This was all that mattered.

Rodolphus pulled back and stared at her.

He would never regret the scar on his face nor the blindness. Nothing would matter more than this small spot of perfect. Nothing mattered more than the way her blonde hair turned into spun silver in the moonlight. Her eyes, bright as the moon. Her lips, kiss-swollen.

“ _I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,_

_or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off._

_I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,_

_in secret, between the shadow and the soul._

_I love you as the plant that never blooms_

_but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;_

_thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,_

_risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body._

_I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where._

_I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;_

_so I love you because I know no other way_

_than this: where I does not exist, nor you,_

_so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,_

_so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep,_ ” Rodolphus whispered in her ear.

Luna closed her eyes and smiled.

Lady Hermione Granger stifled her gasp as she took in the scene. Rodolphus pressed his lips against Luna’s. Luna kissed back with ferocity, wrapping her arms around Rodolphus’ neck, yanking his head down to her. Hermione took a step forward when an arm wrapped around her middle and a hand slapped against her mouth. She opened her mouth to scream but no sound emerged.

Someone had nonverbally _Silenced_ her.

The strong, calloused hands tugged her away from the scene, jerking her through the closest door. Hermione stumbled, her eyes narrowed as she tried to see through the unending darkness. Three times, she had been assaulted in the past two days. Three times, without a wand. The door locked.

Suddenly, the candles within the room illuminated in the space. Hermione blinked.

The man before her was handsome. That was the first thing she noticed. His hair was dark and waved to his ears. His face was unshaven, marked with stubble. The shape of his jaw was so familiar. She thought she might’ve seen him at court before.

“Who are you?” Hermione barked.

“My Lady, please don’t scream,” he begged, hands held up.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t going to. Now, tell me. Who are you?”

“Rabastan Lestrange, my Lady. I’m Lord Lestrange’s younger brother. I swear,” the man said, wrenching up his left sleeve. Hermione looked down at the skull and snake tattoo that marked a Death Eater. Hermione swallowed, relieved.

It was an odd thing to feel safer with a Death Eater than with a Muggle Auror.

“Why did you manhandle me into this room?” Hermione said, gesturing vaguely at the old moth-ridden bed that dominated the room.

Rabastan shook his head. “No, my Lady. I’m not...that’s not…”

“You’re young, aren’t you?” Hermione asked.

“Yes, my Lady. My brother...well, he practically raised me,” Rabastan said. Hermione knew that to be true. He could be, at most, ten annuals older than her. Nothing more.

“Why did you manhandle me, Lord Rabastan? I wake up in the middle of the night and my servant girl is missing. I go to find her, and she is in the arms of your brother. Do I not have a right to question why she has gone? What if he is forcing himself on her?” Hermione demanded.

She knew all about noblemen forcing themselves on servant girls. She wouldn’t let that happen to Luna.

“Did that look like he was forcing himself on her? He loves her. He loves her, my Lady. More than anything else,” Rabastan said, eyes wide. He was practically on his knees, begging for his brother. Hermione’s glare softened.

“What… how did the pureblood Lord of an old, respected House fall in love with a servant girl?” Hermione rasped.

Rabastan stood and looked around, shiftily. “It began with the death of the deathless. His love for her cost him an eye. Please, don’t make him give her up. Don’t ruin this for my brother,” he begged and Hermione sighed, looking away for a long moment.

“How did this happen?”

“It’s not my fairy story to tell,” Rabastan said, softly. “Good nothing, my Lady.”

And with that, he was gone.

* * *

 

**FAIREST**

* * *

 

“My Lord! My Lord!”

The Dark Lord didn’t turn to address the young Lady Granger as he continued into the stables, preparing for his journey the next day. Sunset approached and he had hoped to have a moment of silence before supper.

He pinched the bridge of his nose as her shrill cries carried after him. His head pounded. Narcissa’s machinations gave him a headache and Lucius’ protests at being replaced on the council by his ungrateful brat of a son had been a task of endurance. His only reprieve had been that sweet girl that had taken it so well.

“My Lord!”

Voldemort spun around hissed, “ _What_?”

Lady Granger faltered. Her eyes were wide at his hostility. Voldemort’s lips curled into a sneer. Did the girl think that they would become confidants simply because her maid had had the sense to tell him of what transpired in his absence?

“I thought...I thought you would have done something by now,” Lady Granger said, her voice soft.

Voldemort scoffed.

“Do what, exactly? Your betrothed is quite comfortable in that ugly chair of his,” Voldemort said, mockingly and Granger glared.

“But, Luna said...Luna said if I told you, you would do something,” she said.

“You _are_ a daft girl. I can do nothing. I am Chancellor of the Realm, still. But, in my absence, the council has shifted as have alliances. You tell me that Narcissa murdered my sister but, you know what I do _not_ have: _evidence_. Something you failed to provide,” Voldemort snarled.

Granger’s glare burned a thousand times hotter. Voldemort’s lips twitched. Insulting Granger’s intelligence was the best way to rile her up. She prided herself on her wits and wits, she did have. She had survived Narcissa and her son so far. The boy-king thought that he would have a submissive, well-beloved queen. The boy-king thought that he could beat her into the mold. Granger played the role well.

“ _Will_ you stop him, though?” she demanded. “He’s mad. He’ll destroy this empire. He puts everyone and everything in danger. Narcissa threatened me. She performed Occlumency on me and I--”

“She read your mind?” Voldemort demanded, grabbing her arm and pulling her forward roughly. Granger shrieked but, baleful, fell silent under his fearsome gaze. He stirred with fury. This girl would be better off dead. But, no. He needed her alive for now. He needed her to distract the stupid boy and his mad mother. “Did you confirm her suspicions? You must be an idiot or suicidal.”

“I’m neither!” Granger snapped, yanking herself away. “I don’t know Occlumency and I don’t have a wand. Three times, I have been assaulted and manhandled in the past two days. You will not touch me again. I will not make it four.”

Voldemort stared at her for a long moment. All of these young witches and wizards had balls the size of a bull. He was impressed.

“You could’ve ruined everything, girl. Narcissa is a Slytherin. Never meet her eyes. She’s cunning and knows what to do and what to say to appear discreet. That is what power means to her,” Voldemort said, his voice soft. Hermione nodded, looking down. “I have always believed good things come in threes, Lady Granger.”

Granger looked up, eyes wide. “What do you mean, my Lord?”

“You are a fool. But, a loyal one,” Voldemort allowed. “You will remain here at the boy-king’s side.”

Granger looked down.

“Please, don’t leave again, my Lord. Draco is a gruesome, macabre sadist. His mother allows this because it makes him happy. He has me beaten for nothing. I don’t even want to be here. I want to go home,” Granger whispered, trembling.

Voldemort tilted his head, looking over her. She was a survivor, this one. He could tell. She reminded him of Andromeda, in a way.

“I’ve only had this one home and it has been taken over by a little fool and his mother,” Voldemort said. He paused, reaching into the satchel that he was going to lock away.

Slowly, he drew forth a wand--it was vinewood, a gently crafted thing. Granger let out a quiet sob, and she reached forward and then, as if afraid to touch it. As if she were afraid that it wasn’t real. Voldemort smirked.

“My Lord…”

“I asked for this from my sister yesterday. She knows better than to ask me why. You will protect yourself,” Voldemort said.

Hermione took it and cradled the slim wand to her chest, trembling.

“One day...you shall return to find your nephew in a grave,” Hermione hissed, looking up at him with burning eyes.

And Voldemort saw it then. She had wisdom in her eyes. A survivor’s eyes. Like Andromeda. Like the eyes trapped in the mirror. She meant every word. She would spin a spider’s web and would help trap Draco. She would be useful to the Fairest. Voldemort turned away from her, making his way back to the castle. He paused and looked over his shoulder.

“Not if I kill him first,” he taunted. “I leave at dawn. Hide the wand, Hermione Granger.”

Granger fell to her knees, clutching her wand to her breast and then, as she sat, she began to spin the web.

* * *

 

**OF**

* * *

 

The blonde woman pulled the black veil from her face, carefully folding it on the bedside table, a slight smile playing around her lips. Her sweet sister, already fifteen, nearly a woman, was fast asleep. Gabrielle hadn’t fallen asleep so quickly since their mother had been around to put her to sleep herself. Fleur Delacour leaned down, brushing a kiss against Gabrielle’s brow before she blew out the candle.

She left the room as quietly as she could, shutting the door behind her. Fleur would normally curl into bed with Gabrielle but, there were more pressing matters. Fleur descended the creaking steps, passing into her shop.

Fleur smiled proudly at the beautiful dresses in her windows. The large loom against the far wall was still going, sustained by Fleur’s magic until she went to bed. She had been weaving when she had to practically drag a yawning Gabrielle up the stairs. Gabrielle was always reading, a strange habit she had picked up from Fleur’s friend, Hermione Granger.

Fleur stepped over three baskets of mending, moving into the back room. She quickly shut the door and lifted her wand.

“ _Colloportus_ ," Fleur cast. The door glowed and the lock clicked. The room was entirely dark. " _Lumos._ ”

The light of her wand turned the silvery-blonde sheet of her hair to the color of the moon. She flicked her wand, sending balls of light up into the room. The spinning wheel peeked out from the sheet in the corner of the room. Fleur went to it, sitting by its, ripping the sheet away. It was already spinning. So, indeed, it _was_ time. The new moon fast approached.

The young Veela began to spin imaginary thread, just as her mother taught her, and her mother before her, and so on and so forth until the Dtrwies. She began to speak the ancient guttural tongue of her began, and air and magic came to her. Fleur watched as magic spun through the air, painting a picture for her. The magic spiraled into a thick, heady swirl of energy.

“ _Pokazhite mne proshloe_ ,” Fleur whispered in the language of days past.

Devastation. The world burned. The village burned, overrun with Aurors, Muggle and wizarding alike. They cursed the Muggles, tortured them, sending them flying through the air. Fleur hummed as she watched a large, overweight man bounce through the air, his screams terrible in Fleur’s ears but, mute to anyone else. He landed on the ground with a sickening crack and when the terrible blond man, the Auror leader, gutted him, entrails and bile rushed from the gaping wound. The overweight man was unable to move from the ground, his legs still. He was attempting to hold his organs inside of him, fingers sliding through intestine, growing weaker and weaker. A tall blonde woman and another overweight boy screamed, trying to pull him along.  A woman, with red braids, with a phoenix upon their breast.

“ _Ukaž mi budoucnost,_ ” Fleur whispered, in the language of the future.

The world shifted. Fleur’s eyes widened when she saw her best friend. Hermione, in a long silken white dress robe, a green scarf over her shoulder--Slytherin green. Her beautiful brown curls were twisted into a painfully elaborate style. She was mouthing someone, terror and awe and triumph warring in her eyes. Mouthing something, _Wyrdfod_. Fleur shivered. _Wyrdfod_. Why would a non-believer be calling the _Wyrdfod_?

There was a shriek that sounded like nothing Fleur had heard before, and fire. So much fire.

The image shivered.

King Draco sat upon a palomino palfrey horse, two long knives on each wrist. Sitting on a white horse, was a woman in chainmail and crystal. Her long blond hair streamed out behind her, a crossbow in one hand, her wand in another. Her eyes were the coldest that Fleur had ever seen in her life.

The shrieking again. It came from the sky, from the ground, from the _boy_.

He was beautiful. Crimson leather armor, lined with gold. A mess of black hair. Red lips. White skin. He sat atop a horse, a silver horse. A long chain was wrapped around his wrist, and he was still. Even still, he flickered like Fire. At the heel of his horse was a fully grown albino lioness, her teeth bloody. The boy...the _boy_. Wyrdfod. It echoed. Hermione’s voice, _Wyrdfod. Wyrdfod._

The image shivered.

The boy. The _boy--Wyrdfod--_ stood in the middle of a castle that Fleur knew was Hogwarts Castle. The courtyard was dominated by a single tree. An old crone sat at the foot of it, a single thing cradled in her gnarled hands. Wyrdfod watched her, the chain gone. The lioness gone. The old crone was singing and smiled. She offered her gift.

A single red apple.

The magic died. Fleur cursed. The hardest part was approaching and the magic had _died_. She spun harder, focusing all of her energy. Seeing what was. Seeing what going to pass. Those things were easy. Seeing the now. Well, she’d need everything.

“ _Ukaž mi Súčasnosť.”_

The magic swirled anxiously and the White Woman breathed heavily as she saw Hermione again. She had never seen the same person in one session. She almost never saw _true_ images in her sessions. Only flashes. The Dtrwies were trying to speak to her. They would speak truth into her.

Hermione was cradling a wand to her chest, staring up at a man.

The man was beautiful with blood for eyes. Blood for eyes. _Elfarexaj_. Kingmaker. Kingmaker.

The image ended and Fleur slumped away as the spinning wheel trembled with its power. She raised her hands, waiting.

The spinning wheel spun.

* * *

 

**THEM ALL?**

* * *

 

The old crone walked in long strides, limping forward. She stopped, breathing hard as she leaned on her stick. She had traveled long and far through the Forest, across the Western Bridge of the Narrow Sea, through Afallon, her sister’s lands, to the edges of the sea. She had used the little magic that she still possessed to sustain herself. Only when she had nearly broken, had she begged for a man to side-Apparate her as close to the sea as he would. Her skirt caught on a bramble and she tugged hard, the hem of her skirts already in tatters.

Weeds and leaves were tangled in the creases of her burlap cloak. The wrinkles in her face had deepened with exhaustion and age. The black magick that she had wrought would be her end, just as Albus Dumbledore had threatened her with. Unless...unless, she got to the Warlock of the Sea in time, she would die. Bellatrix was not in the business of dying. She dealt in ruling.

Her death had been Narcissa’s eventual intentions. Bellatrix’s lips curled into a sneer. Her cowardly sister had condemned her but, couldn’t swing the sword herself. She was weak. So, weak. Bellatrix made a sound at the back of her throat, grumbling. She heard her voice echo through the forest. Had she been speaking aloud? No?

“Yes? Are we speaking aloud?” Bellatrix hissed.

The rustle of the trees answered her back. The dirt ground was shifting to sand, beads of grains filling her soft, tearing slippers. Bellatrix paused when she heard the singing. She limped forward faster. As the singing grew louder, so did the crashing of waves against the shore.

She stepped through the parting between the trees.

Two girls stood on the wet shores, dancing and laughing as they ran into the tides and then ran back onto drier ground. They were naked, fire reflecting the water upon their pale skin. The first girl had dark hair, and a round, dumpy face. But, she sang, happily, her wet dark hair falling down her back. The second girl had blonde hair, blonde like her sister's. She emerged from the water again, dragging a dirty, gray matted thing after her. She swung it around her like a cape, giggling.

The second girl...she was _beautiful_.

Bellatrix stepped forward, entranced by the bewitching song. They weren’t speaking any language that Bellatrix understood. It sounded like the speech of the _sidhe_ , yet it was not high and sweet. This was a deep, guttural language and it was not pretty. The song was not beautiful.

“Who are you?”

The dark-haired girl watched her, curiously. The beautiful one took a step back, covering her naked body with the matted thing around her body. Bellatrix gave the smile of a sweet old lady.

“We are looking for someone,” Bellatrix rasped, her voice cracking and folding.

“Who do you seek, witch?” the beautiful girl with flaxen-hair barked.

So like _Narcissa_.

“Who’s asking, little one?” Bellatrix creaked.

The beautiful girl made a guttural sound. Her name. The dark-haired girl laughed, bright and beautiful.

“She doesn’t understand you. You need a human name!” the dark-haired girl giggled.

Bellatrix’s eyes fell on the matted cloak. No. Not cloak. _Skin_.

“My name’s Olive,” the beauty said.

“A selkie,” Bellatrix finished.

The girls looked at each other. The dark-haired one scrambled for her own skin, holding the oily matted thing to her chest, covering pale tear-drop breasts and the thick of hair between her thighs. Bellatrix’s face folded as she smiled, showing off her rotting teeth.

“I’m Myrtle. My name is Myrtle,” the dark-haired girl said.

“Myrtle and Olive. Two beautiful selkies,” Bellatrix flattered.

Olive curled in on herself. Myrtle nodded, her wet hair wagging and swinging around her round face. Were all ugly people as stupid as this girl, Bellatrix wondered.

“Where can we find the Warlock of the Sea?” Bellatrix asked.

Olive took a step backward but, Myrtle scurried forward, so very helpful. Bellatrix laughed, gently as Myrtle took her by her hands and tugged her towards the sea.

“Oh! You must walk across the sea along the salt bridge. Come,” she said.

Bellatrix smiled, reaching up her sleeve. Her fingers tightened around the handle of her knife.

Olive let out a guttural sound. Myrtle’s name, then. “Come on. It’s time to go home.”

“We’re just helping her!” Myrtle protested. “Why can’t you be nice?”

Olive shook her head, frantically. “N-no, Myrtle, don’t be an idiot. Come--” she broke off with a gasp.

Myrtle cried out, her back arching, blood seeping from her wet body, dripping onto her selkie skin. Bellatrix snatched it in her gnarled hand. Myrtle staggered, blood pouring from her belly, soaking Olive’s feet and the sand around them

“Thank you for your assistance,” Bellatrix said, wrapping the selkie skin around her.

Olive shrieked, letting out a guttural sound. She turned on her heel and ran for the ocean, diving in, leaving bloody footprints in her wake. Bellatrix looked down at the body. It wasn’t the beautiful one but, youth had some power of its own.

Bellatrix dragged the body to the rising tides of the sea and bit down into the girl’s bare breast, ripping her heart out with her teeth. Blood met foam. She swallowed the selkie’s heart, gasping as youth replenished her. Her skin smoothed, though she still felt old enough to be her mother. Her dress hung slightly looser, having lost the weight of old age. She grinned her bloody grin, looking up at the new moon.

Let the girl run. Let her tell the creatures of the sea whom would tell creatures of the land.

Let the Warlock of the Sea know that she was coming.

Let the world know that she would be back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have finally compiled a list of all of the fairytales I’ll be using in this work. If anyone wants to know about that, you should PM me or review me, if you want to know. They’re sorta spoilers so I don’t want to put it in here.
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Please think about dropping a comment and/or a kudos!


	13. Chapter Twelve

 

Andromeda stalked across the gardens and orchards, her eyes trained on her brother’s back as he strode to the stables, ready to escape _again_. The Warden wasn’t sure if he knew that she followed him but, she wasn’t afraid to make her presence known. Her brother had told her _Nymphadora Tonks sends her regards_ two days ago, and then, nothing more. He taunted her, teased her, lorded over her with the fact that he _knew_ something.

Andromeda was tired.

Her Nymphadora was a woman grown now. She had been taken from Andromeda’s arms when she was all but three. Andromeda tired of being in the dark, tired of the endless thirst for vengeance. Revenge was a tiresome business that she was growing wary of, just as she had grown wary of her own brother, the man who had sworn to protect her and she had sworn to protect. They had been blood. They _were_ blood.

“Brother! Brother!” Andromeda shouted.

She watched her brother stiffen for just a moment before he continued into the stable. Andromeda stormed in, her yellow skirts and chain mail billowing around her. She glowered at him as he mounted the black beast of a horse, just as dark as he.

“Dromeda, please. I must go,” Voldemort said, looking far more tired than she had seen him in quite some time.

Perhaps, that wasn’t true, though. Perhaps he had been tired for the past sixteen years. Andromeda truly _looked_ at her brother. Ever since he had taken the name ‘Voldemort’, when they had cut down the Founders, he had looked tired.

“I want to know where you’re going. I want to know if you’ve truly seen my daughter,” Andromeda demanded. Voldemort blinked, owlishly, as if he had no idea how to answer her.

“I see.”

“Do you?” she retorted, hands on her hips.

“Dromeda, must we do this now?” Voldemort asked.

She scoffed. “So, we speak and play your games when you wish it. Not when it comes to _my_ daughter, _Tom._ Not when you ask me to swear fealty to a boy that I’ve never met. When you’ve aligned yourself with the Order, our sworn enemy.”

Voldemort looked around, searching for spies first before he turned to his sister.

“Lower your voice,” he snarled.

Andromeda rolled her eyes and waved her wand, casting the Human-revealing-spell. There was nothing, not the slightest of swooping feelings. Andromeda turned back to her brother and cast a privacy ward, buzzing in her ears.

“Shall we continue, then, Tom?” Andromeda asked.

“Do not call me by that name,” Voldemort hissed.

Andromeda rolled her eyes. “Fine. Tell me, is the boy so good in bed that you will align yourself with our enemy? His tongue so--”

“Andromeda, no,” was all that Voldemort said. Andromeda faltered. She had not heard her full name from him in that tone in quite some time. “Narcissa killed my sister. I will avenge her. I will avenge this empire. My work will not die with her. I ask you to swear fealty to them because, for all intents and purposes, you are neutral. You have executed Order and Aurors alike for committed crimes on your land. You are fair and just and I would see you survive this war.”

Andromeda paused. It was the closest thing to _I love you_ that she’d ever heard from her brother. She hummed, waiting, hesitating. She walked up to him, her neck straining.

“And Nymphadora...sends her regards?”

Voldemort hesitated for just a moment. He looked into her gaunt, hardened face. She had once laughed. He couldn't remember the sound. Now, she was hollowed by grief and had made her bones to iron. She was the Warden now.

“Yes,” he said.

“Will you tell me if she...says anything else?” Andromeda asked.

She wanted him to confirm that Nymphadora lived. She wanted him to say it.

He sighed. “Yes,” he said and then he was off, galloping for the South.

* * *

 

**MIRROR**

* * *

“You’ve been avoiding me, Aunt Petunia.”

Petunia stiffened as she tugged down more of her and Dudley’s freshly laundered clothing from the clothesline. She plucked off the pins and dropped them into her basket. The Order, and more specifically, Ginny Weasley, had been kind to her. She had introduced Petunia to some of the other Muggle women and the women had given her and Dudley clothes. Petunia wasn’t sure if they were being kind under McGonagall’s order.

“I haven’t, your Highness,” Petunia said, her voice as unfeeling as wood. Slowly, she looked up at the boy that had been placed in her care for nearly two decades.

He had always been so beautiful.

For all of the other things about him that were lacking--he was wilful, stubborn, and had a mouth on him--he had never been lacking in beauty.

Harry laughed. It was a sad laugh. Had his laugh always been sad? Had Petunia ever heard him laugh before?

“You raised me to be your servant. Don’t call me that.”

Petunia froze. If he won the war, he could have her thrown into jail for her treatment of him. It was what she would do. But, Harry was not her. He was too soft for that.

“Don’t say something stupid like that, brat,” Petunia retorted. She paused, a grim smile spreading across her face as she realized whom it was she was speaking to.

“There’s my Aunt Petunia. Always treating me like I’m the ground that she walks upon.”

Petunia grimaced. “I apologize, your Highness.”

Harry scowled as he stepped closer, watching her with green eyes.

“I have a question for you, Aunt Petunia,” Harry said, his voice so soft.

“I imagine you can ask me anything.”

Harry tilted his head. “Did you know what the villagers called me?”

_Whore. Slut. Freak. Monster._

“Yes,” Petunia said. She had no reason to lie. She had never spoken those words to him. She had heard her husband hiss ‘freak’ at him. She had heard her son and his friends whisper ‘whore’. But, Petunia had never said a single word to him.

“Okay,” Harry said, softly. “The Order makes me feel like you did.”

“How did I make you feel?” Petunia spat, looking him in the face, daring him. Harry was smiling but, fuck, it was a _sad_ smile. What did he have to be sad about? “Like you didn’t belong? Your Highness, you _didn’t._ I never called you a single one of those vile words.”

“But, you knew,” Harry retorted, just as angry. And _there_ was the stubborn, wilful boy that she had been forced to raise. There he was. “You knew what they called me. And it _hurts_. They call me ‘whore’ here. They call me a prince, raise me up on this pedestal, and treat me like the prince of whores. Like I can be _owned._ ”

Petunia paused, looking at this angry boy, and wondered. Harry Wildfyre. That’s what the refugees called him. She could see the fire. She had always seen the fire. They didn’t call him ‘whore’ out here. Perhaps, the younger boys. But, they were boys and they would learn. No, the others, the adults, respected him. They believed he had made the ultimate sacrifice, sleeping with the Dark Lord.

She could say something petty. She could break him. But, no, Harry was not broken easily. Even as he complained to her, he was not broken. He wanted someone to tell him that he was broken. It would not be Petunia that told him that he wasn’t broken, only cracked.

“I am not your confidant,” she said, instead.

Harry took a step forward, sneering. “You are what I _say_ you are,” he snarled. “You treated me like _shit_ for years. Like I was _nothing_. I am the Prince of Gryffindor. I am the Fairest. I will be _King._ You are what I _say_ you are.”

Petunia’s lips pulled into a colorless smile.

“Have you told them that?” she asked, turning her back on him, hefting up her massive basket, grunting softly. When she turned back to him, he was staring at her.

“What do you mean?” he asked, softly, thoughtfully.

Petunia slid her basket to her side, tucking it into the bony cradle of her side.

“Nothing has changed for you. You can tell me who you are all you want but, it won’t change what they call you. Nothing has changed because you haven’t asked for things to change. The Order thinks you are incompetent because you haven’t done anything but lie on your back and spread your legs,” Petunia said, her cornflower blue eyes cold. “They are old men. They are not beautiful. For beautiful people, sometimes, the best weapon is between the legs.”

Harry flushed. He looked down, squirming, and Petunia smirked. There he was.

“I--”

“I wasn’t _finished_ ,” Petunia bit out, her lip curled into a sneer. “For people like me, _ugly_ people, we _demand_ respect. You have not. Just as you never demanded _my_ respect. If you want something in this world, you _demand_ it. Don’t lie on your back and take it like a whore.”

Harry stared at her and he tilted his head, looking at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. Petunia felt a flash of _hate_. This beautiful boy. She resented him. He was no better than her, practically a bastard of two Houses. His parents had been married in secret. Who was to say he _was_ legitimate? But, it was all in secrets. Two bastards, one known and the other legitimized by the secrecy surrounding his birth.

“I am the Prince of Gryffindor,” Harry said, oddly cold. His hands glowed with fire. Petunia pressed her lips into a thin line. “The next time the word ‘whore’ comes out of your mouth in the same sentence as my name, I will _kill_ you.”

Petunia nodded once, and looked down at the grass, hiding her smile. “Yes, your Highness.”

* * *

 

**MIRROR**

* * *

 

Dudley didn’t know what to think about the Order camp. It was strange. Everywhere he turned there were clothes washing themselves along with the Muggle women, small children chasing flying balls. There was laughter. Everyone looked _happy_ , in hiding from the Slytherins. Everywhere he looked, Muggles worked alongside wizarding kind like they hadn’t been told how different they had been for years.

Everywhere he looked, there was hope.

And all that hope resided in Harry Wildfyre.

Dudley watched him, with the other teenagers. They were in awe. So was Dudley but, perhaps, for different reasons. They didn’t know Harry from Little Whinging. They didn’t know how different he was here. Harry had always been stubborn and beautiful but, with steel in his hand, with a wand, in battle leathers, he looked terrifying.

The servant-boy was a Prince. A war prince. He dueled with Ginny's youngest brother, Ron, sparring with live steel.

Ron made the first move, and Harry easily knocked the blow away with his own blade. He spun, drawing his wand and shouting a spell. Ron ducked out of the way of the purpose close, drawing his own wand. Harry snickered and thrust with his sword. Ron parried and spun into his space, intent on making Harry submit. Harry headbutt Ron in the nose, sending the boy flying back.

“Dirty hit!” Ron shouted.

“There’s no dirty hits in war!” Harry laughed.

Ginny clapped from her perch just a few yards away. Harry laughed even louder, launching forward again, intent on disarming Ron. They exchanged blow after heavy blow, jinxes and hexes flying at Harry. As Harry blocked the blade, he shouted spells, dodging hexes after jinxes. Harry hissed something at Ron that made him throw his head back and then, Harry spun and had his wand to Ron’s temple and a blade to Ron’s jugular.

Ron dropped his sword, grudgingly impressed.

“That was good.”

“Well, thank you very much. I do try,” Harry snickered. Ginny laughed.

Ron rolled his eyes. “You aren’t very princely, are you?”

“Don’t know how to be a prince. Learning to be a king is in the process though, promise,” Harry teased.

Ron rolled his eyes and pulled Harry under his arm, messing with his hair. Dudley wondered how Ron could treat Harry so _normally_. Harry had never been normal. He was untouchable, too beautiful, or he belonged to someone completely. Harry had been their servant. Dudley’s friends had touched him like they owned him.

“There are some ways you can improve, Harry,” Ginny shouted. “Ron, stop wrestling…”

Ginny trailed off, her eyes narrowing in the distance. Ron and Harry froze. Harry roughly shoved Ron away.

“He’s back,” a boy hissed to the gaggle of teenagers that Dudley had surrounded himself with.

Dudley shivered. He cringed in fear as he watched the man gallop through the camp, the refugees parting for him. The man was so tall and broad. Frightening. Dudley used to think he was awe-inspiring, when he watched him on Mortem Phoenix every year. When the Dark Lord had appeared in Little Whinging, Dudley thought that the men that faced his blade ever year probably reacted as he did.

This man tortured Muggles for fun. He had murdered Piers without a single thought. Dudley shivered, as the man’s blood gaze went over the teenagers that cowered in fear. Dudley wondered if he would recognize him as the boy that had told him where to find Harry. He waited as the Dark Lord’s gaze fell on him. He wondered if he was about to die, like his father. But, then the Dark Lord’s gaze passed over him as if he didn’t recognize him at all.

“Lord Voldemort,” Harry said, his voice firm.

Dudley swallowed. Harry had been in bed with this man three days ago. The Dark Lord dismounted his horse as he approached Harry. Dudley wondered what he would do. Would he kiss Harry, claiming him? Would he attempt to kill him?

He did neither.

“Sweetling, where is Nymphadora?” he asked, looking down at Harry.

Dudley watched Harry’s expression carefully. Harry’s expression folded, just a bit. He cleared his throat and looked over at Ginny. Ginny’s good mood had expired with the Dark Lord’s arrival.

“Ginny, go get Tonks, please,” Harry said.

Ginny snorted. “ _Gladly_ ,” she hissed, storming inside.

Ron looked like he wanted to follow after her. His dark mood darkened and he glided backwards, frowning.

“You’re back already,” Harry said, softly. The Dark Lord looked down at him, unspeaking for a long moment and then, the Dark Lord brushed his fingers against Harry’s jaw, tilting his head up. “You have something of worth for me.”

“I am in the process of convincing the Warden of the West to swear fealty to you,” the Dark Lord said, quietly. Dudley ignored the whispering gossiping of the people around him, leaning in to listen more.

Harry’s eyes widened. “Your sister?”

“We’ll discuss it later,” the Dark Lord said, looking up as the Burrow II door creaked open.

Dudley saw the whore again. He had seen her around the camp many times, her dress low cut enough to expose her breasts, wrapped in her crimson cloak. Her hair was the most shocking shade of pink and the first time Dudley’s mum had seen her, she had made a noise in the back of her throat and shook her head. Dudley’s mum had always had that reaction when she heard the things that men, and some women, would say about Harry.

The woman carried a strange toddler on her hip. Yesterday, the toddler’s hair had been a shocking purple but, now it was an equally shocking shade of turquoise. One of the witch girls, Lavender, had tried to explain it to him. Ultimately, it was about magic, apparently.

“Nymphadora,” the Dark Lord said, bypassing Harry entirely.

Harry stared after them, happiness warring with irritation.

“What’s going on?” Ron muttered to Harry.

Harry raised a hand. “Watch. Tonks…”

The Dark Lord crowded the whore and stared down at her, an odd look on his face.

“Blood of my blood,” he said.

The whore, Tonks or Nymphadora or _whatever_ , nodded at him. “Blood of my blood,” she said. The toddler whimpered in her arms, burying his face in her neck, shyly. Tonks smiled, softly. “This is Teddy.”

The Dark Lord nodded and he looked at Tonks.

“I have asked the Warden of the West to swear fealty to the Prince of Gryffindor,” the Dark Lord said, his voice quiet. Tonks’ eyes widened.

“You...is she going to? Will she come?” Tonks demanded.

"I think she will," the Dark Lord said. "I've told her that you live. If you meet her, she will do so."

Tonks let out a choking sound, and she squirmed, holding the toddler, Teddy, a little too tight. The toddler made a sound and Tonks released her tight hold, hushing him.

“Thank you. Thank you,” Tonks whispered. “Thank you, Uncle.”

Dudley’s eyes widened. He looked to the other teenagers with him, looking at Lavender.

“Did you know?” he hissed.

“That Tonks is the daughter of the Warden of the _West_? Fuck no,” Lavender snarled under her breath.

The Dark Lord turned away from Tonks and slowly unsheathed his sword, walking over to Harry. Harry smirked up at him, pulling his own sword.

“Thank you,” Harry said, softly. “For doing that for her.”

The Dark Lord snorted. "I do it because of my vow to you. I do not break deals," the Dark Lord said and Harry nodded. He spun, bringing his sword down on Harry. Harry gaped, bringing his sword up for a block, their faces so close to their crossed blades.

“No warning, my Lord?” Harry asked, breathlessly.

The Dark Lord smirked.

“First lesson, your Highness,” the Dark Lord said. “ _Always_ look for the wand first. _Expelliarmus_.”

* * *

 

**ON**

* * *

 

“He’s gone again,” Lucius hissed.

Severus looked up from his potions, irritation warring with exasperation. He held up a steady hand and sighed.

“Please don’t disturb my potions,” he sighed.

“Really, Severus. You think I’d act like a child in a potions lab? Merlin only knows what you’re brewing in here,” Lucius retorted. He leaned against the wall, glanced at the door and then turned back to Severus. Severus was the former Lord of Whispers. He had no doubt the room was as heavily warded as they come.

“Prior experience implies that you will inevitably ruin something,” Severus said, carefully grinding the asphodel root into powder. “Our Lord has disappeared again. To the Prince of Gryffindor, I’m sure.”

"Yes, of course, it's him," Lucius snapped. "Is he that good at taking it?"

Severus’ eyes flashed with annoyance. That was _Lily_ ’s son. To imply that he was anything less than the royalty that she was felt like slander. Still, he didn’t protest immediately.

“He is intrigued by him. Far too much for his own good,” Severus said instead.

Lucius snorted. “That boy is the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my entire life. Who wouldn’t be intrigued by him?”

“I wouldn’t be.”

“You’re mad, Severus. Absolutely mad,” Lucius said in disbelief, laughing behind his gloved hand.

Severus rolled his eyes. “A mad bastard as a Death Eater would be horrifying, would it not?”

Lucius pursed his lips. “You shouldn’t jest, Severus. It doesn’t suit you.”

“The Dark Lord returns to the boy that intrigues the world. The boy that brought our Lord to his knees with just a pretty smile. There is power in that. Beauty is power, indeed,” Severus drawled, bitterly. After all, he knew all about the value of beauty.

In Bellatrix's court, Severus had been recognized as a great swordsman, but he wasn't a beautiful man. His hair was always oily from potion fumes, his nose was far too long for his face, and his lips to thin, skin too sallow. Still, his Lord's favor had kept him comfortable at court.

“He’s taking his new loyalties quite seriously,” Lucius said.

“I imagine so. Our Lord has very little tolerance for the idea of his death. And he _did_ make an Unbreakable Vow,” Severus said, bitingly. Lucius looked haughtily offended, but Severus didn’t mind that so much. It was Lucius’ default expression.

“Do you not think this odd at all, Severus?”

Severus slammed the mortar and pestle down. His brow furrowed and he tucked his hair, oily from the potions fumes, behind his ear.

“Of course I find the whole situation _odd_ , Lucius. The Dark Lord is working against all that he believed in. We return from a hunt to be replaced on the council by _children_. Narcissa’s idiotic son now sits upon the throne and I question the loyalties of certain Death Eaters,” Severus said, sharply. He collapsed on his stool, pinching the bridge of his head. He attempted to will the headache away but, he knew that wouldn’t do the trick.

Lucius did not miss how Severus had no referred to Draco as Lucius’ son. He had never been particularly close to his son, no matter how similar in appearance they were, and now Lucius regretted that. Draco was a sadistic spoiled brat and he hadn’t seen it until he had walked in on the Mudblood girl’s public beating.

“Draco is an unfortunate king, isn’t he?” Lucius said, his voice soft.

Severus looked at him, incredulous. “‘Unfortunate’ is mild, Lucius. That boy is a menace to the realm. He’d like to murder everything he touches. I may not be Lord of Whispers any longer but, I hear the whispers. He takes whores to his bed and they come out broken. He is not a normal boy.”

“He is his mother’s son,” Lucius drawled. “Horrific in many ways.”

Severus hummed. He had never thought Narcissa horrific but, if the way the realm was progressing was due to her, she was in fact horrific. She was horrifically intelligent. Smarter than Severus, for he had never suspected. Most definitely, she possessed an intelligence on par with the Dark Lord. A terrifying claim.

“Dolohov will meet his end. The Prince made that quite clear,” Severus said. “I do not mind it. I thought him spineless once, but, perhaps not in the way I should have. A snake. He’s already joined the boy-king’s circle.”

“House Lestrange is no longer in favor. Rodolphus tells him that he is no longer welcome to the council. He’s been replaced by Antonin Dolohov as general. The heir of House Nott is the new Commander of Cavalry. Another boy in my rightful space,” Lucius drawled.

Severus frowned at him. The man didn’t seem too put out.

“You don’t seem bothered.”

"I'm not. What cavalry have I led, Severus? We haven't entered a full-scale war. There have been skirmishes, disruptions of raids. When the first battle, the real battle, begins, then, my son shall have his war he's so desperate for," Lucius said, his voice tenderly cold. It was a terrifying contradiction.

Severus hummed, resting his chin on steepled fingers. The boy-king would have his war and the Dark Lord would be pressured into allowing the Death Eaters to fight, in order to keep up appearances. Some would fight for Draco willingly. It seemed Dolohov could be counted amongst them. And wherever Dolohov went, Travers followed.

“We must protect the Dark Lord, Lucius. House Lestrange will be loyal to our Lord once he makes his changes of allegiance clear. Rodolphus was loyal even after he was slighted by Bellatrix and he despises Draco on principle. But, what do you think of House Carrow?” Severus asked.

Lucius didn’t seem bothered by the sudden conversation change.

“The twins are sadists but, they are loyal. As long as they are kept in line, they should be relied upon. What do you say of Yaxley?” Lucius asked. “Yaxley and Rowle?”

“Most certainly loyal. The Dark Lord saved Rowle’s family from extinction by marrying him to the Parkinson cousin. Pettigrew?” Severus demanded.

Lucius snorted, shaking his head. “Do we really consider the Rat of the Alley one of us? He’s a coward.”

“He’ll stick with what keeps him comfortable or try to run. No matter, he is no threat,” Severus said, sternly. He picked up his mortar and pestle and continued to grind the asphodel root. He wanted to have the batch of Draught of Living Death brewing.

“Rookwood is safe. Macnair is already following after my son like a loyal hound. That leaves...Barty,” Lucius said.

“Ah...Barty,” Severus murmured, thinking of the youngest knight. The boy was younger than even Rabastan. He kept mostly to himself though, he was often found running after Rabastan or Rodolphus when the Lestrange brothers allowed it. “What do you say of him?”

“Our Lord is fond of him. He is fond of our Lord. He is loyal,” Lucius said, firmly. “I have heard whispers--”

Severus nodded. He knew all of the whispers in the walls. He knew that Blaise Zabini knew them too. Sometimes, he thought the foreign boy was watching him, even in the privacies of his own mind. It was an errant thought, fuelled by illogical suspicion. No one could break through Severus’ Occlumency shields but the Dark Lord.

“Yes, the Houses are being called to court. Houses that haven’t sworn fealty. Barty doesn’t have to. He is in our Lord’s service. His father will come. That will determine his loyalty. That will tip the scale. Bartemius Crouch comes to court.”

* * *

 

**THE WALL**

* * *

 

“-elle! Gabrielle!”

The younger blonde girl shifted in her bed, burrowing deeper into the sheets and blankets. She swatted at the hand shaking her away. That melodic voice reminded her so much of her mother. Gabrielle very much didn’t need her mother at the moment. At the moment, she craved more _sleep._

“Gabrielle! If you don’t wake up this instant, I will set all of your precious little books on fire!”

Gabrielle groaned, her eyes fluttering open. “I’m up...I’m up…”

She stared up through bleary eyes at her sister’s bright smile. Fleur was already dressed for work, wrapped in her soft blue robes, her silvery blonde hair was pulled up, ready to be wrapped in a white veil this time. Gabrielle dreaded the day when she’d have to hide her own hair, would have to hide all of the markers that made her a Veela. She would do it, for her parents had died to keep her protected but, Gabrielle dreaded it all the same.

“Gabrielle, I need you at the front of the shop today. I’ll be busy finishing a few gowns in the backroom and then, I shall be up front later to work on the loom,” Fleur said. Gabrielle groaned as she swung herself out of the bed and walked towards the large wardrobe that she shared with her sister.

Gabrielle peeled through the dresses, all too fine for daily wear. She stopped, pulling out green robes.

“May I wear my green robes today?” Gabrielle asked. Fleur nodded with a smile as she smoothed back every single strand of white blonde hair in their old mirror.

As Fleur finished, she began wrapping her white veil around her hair, tucking it behind her ears, covering the entire top of her head. The magical piece of cloth dampened all of her allure, making her look like a _normal_ pretty rather than ethereal. Gabrielle was glad once again that she didn’t have to wear a veil yet, though the day fast approached. Her sixteenth birthday was just a few months away.

Gabrielle tugged down her green robes, hugging them tight to her chest. Slowly, she peeled off her nightgown, leaving her in her smallclothes. She pulled the robes over her head. The dress that Fleur had made for her wasn't like the traditional clothing worn in Gaul. It was made in the fashionable Esseteriean Albion style, flowing delicate fabrics that were, reportedly, more of the Princess Narcissa's fashion of choice.

Fleur had intended to give it to Hermione before she left with her betrothed. But, once the girl had left and hadn’t sent a letter back, Fleur had adjusted it to fit Gabrielle’s measurements.

Gabrielle brushed her blonde hair behind her shoulders, running her fingers through it in place of a comb. Gabrielle clambered down the stairs, ignoring her sister’s sharp calls in the language of their people. She absentmindedly snatched a biscuit off of the tray that her sister had set out. Quietly, munching on the dry biscuit, she picked up her book and began to read, picking up from where she had left off the night before.

Gabrielle was re-reading the chapter on the Founders' rise to power. It was her favorite book, the last chapter of the history book on Albion. Hermione had been the one to introduce books to her, something that her sister always indulged in for her. Gabrielle always had the coin to buy a new book and Hermione would usually accompany her. They could spend hours in a bookstore. Gabrielle had always been partial to history books.

Hogwarts: A History was her favorite of them all.

She adored the magically-drawn illustrations of the Founders. They were powerful and strong. Warrior kings and queens. Gabrielle’s favorite illustration was one that depicted the Founders just before they had assumed their thrones. Queen Rowena had always been Gabrielle’s favorite. Her tragic story was beautiful, in a terribly sad way, and her largest weapon had been wit. She reminded Gabrielle of Hermione, who she missed desperately.

Happily, she mouthed the words she read, gorging on more biscuits than she probably should. So engrossed, she didn’t notice her sister emerging down the steps or the sharp trill of the magical bell.

“Gabrielle!”

Gabrielle groaned, slamming her book down. She colored as she caught sight of a disapproving Fleur and a rather annoyed customer.

“Um...sorry.”

When had Gabrielle turned into Hermione?

“I’m sure,” Fleur sighed, shaking her head. She turned back to the lady and pasted a sweet smile onto her face. “I am sorry, Miss. I’ll take care of you. _You_ , Gabrielle. If you have time to read, you have time to mend. Come, Miss. Let me measure you.”

She shot one more glare at Gabrielle before she dumped the large, dark blue garment in Gabrielle's lap with the small sewing kit. Fleur guided the customer into the back room, shutting the door with a resounding slam. Gabrielle sighed and picked up the needle. She wondered briefly if she should find a thimble, before deciding that she had pricked her thumbs enough times that she couldn't feel it.

Gabrielle threaded the needle with dark blue thread and she found the terrible rip at the bodice. As she began to mend, she admired how the thread sunk into the fabric, disappearing, making the rip seem nonexistent. Fleur was so talented at making thread. Gabrielle didn’t think she’d _ever_ be that good, no matter how much Veela magic she used. Gabrielle focused on sewing as fast as she could, eager to get back to her book.

She wanted to finish it and swing by the bookstore for something new. She hoped that maybe there would be a book, finally, on the Hogwarts Massacre and all the events that had led up to it. Master Binns had reportedly just finished a manuscript and there were magical copies that Gabrielle wanted to get her hands on.

“Hello, Miss.”

Gabrielle pricked her finger and she jumped, the dress sliding off her lap. Gabrielle swallowed hard as blood welled up on her finger, as bright as a ruby.

She nearly gasped when she looked up. The man was a contradiction. His smile was yellow, hairy so slicked back that it looked like an oil spill, and his nose was crooked as if it had been broken too many times. But, his broad barrel chest was covered by the finest cloth. He was an aristocrat. Gabrielle wouldn't be surprised if he was on the council of dukes and duchesses.

Gabrielle was... _intrigued_.

“H-hello, sir,” she said, her voice soft.

“You’re bleeding,” the man murmured and he took her hand in his, kissing away the blood. He flashed her a smile. It looked more like a predator gnashing its teeth at its prey.

Gabrielle jerked her hand back, pulling it to her chest.

“Thank you,” Gabrielle choked out because if there was anything she remembered her mother teaching her, it was manners.

"You're welcome. I'd like to have some of my clothing mended if that would be possible," the man said, his voice still so soft. He pulled a shrunken trunk out of his pocket, placing it carefully on the counter.

Gabrielle wouldn’t have thought a man like him to have such a soft voice. He smelled like the forest, rich and earthy, and metal.

“Of course. I’ll un-shrink it myself. I can send an owl to let you know how long it’ll take after I assess the clothes,” Gabrielle said and she leaned over the counter, propping her chin up on her arm. She looked at him through curious unflinching eyes. He smirked back at her.

“As you wish, pretty girl,” he growled.

_That_ was the type of voice Gabrielle expected a man like him to have. She was both put off and pulled in. There was something different about this man. He wasn’t completely human, like her. And yet, he didn’t hide it nearly as well as he should in the Republic. Creatures were murdered here. Second-class citizens.

And then it struck her. He had called her ‘pretty’.

She flinched. “Thank you,” she breathed.

The man nodded slowly and then he turned around, staring at her until he couldn’t anymore. He strode to the door and then stopped, his hand on the doorknob. Gabrielle didn’t even realize that she was holding her breath. The man spun back around and walked right up to the counter. He leaned over the wood between the two of them, his face just inches from Gabrielle’s.

“It had just occurred to me that I didn’t leave my name for the order,” the man said.

Gabrielle flushed. She had _forgotten._ Gabrielle cleared her throat and reached under the counter for her sister’s book and quill, where she kept all of the orders. Gabrielle bit her lower lip.

“Your name, sir?”

“Names are powerful, you know,” he drawled. “It’s not fair if you know mine and I don’t know _yours_. How about a name for a name, pretty girl?”

Gabrielle cleared her throat. “My...my name’s Gabrielle.”

The strange man bared his teeth again.

“The name’s Fenrir Greyback, and I’ll be seeing you _very_ soon.”

* * *

 

**WHOM**

* * *

 

The Dark Lord watched her.

The arrows flew through the air, hitting the targets in successive thuds. She never missed dead-center, her gaze sharp even in the near darkness. She pulled another arrow out, nocked it, and let it fly, all in seconds. The arrows were beautiful, iron-tipped, hand-crafted.

Ginevra Weasley hadn't missed once.

“You’re very good,” Voldemort observed.

Ginevra spun around, her bow and arrow now pointed at him. When she realized it was the Dark Lord, she didn’t relax or drop the weapon. Her hands tightened, her eyes narrowing.

“I know.”

Arrogant. Arrogant like the Dark Lord or his Death Eaters. It was matter of fact. She was confident in her abilities. Voldemort felt something like respect stir within him. He stared at the iron-tipped arrow with a raised eyebrow, waiting. Slowly, she lowered it to her side, still holding the arrow threateningly.

There was hatred in her brown eyes and Voldemort understood that too. He had been the one to sentence one of her uncles' death and had promptly executed the other. If there was anything less than hatred, Voldemort would be surprised. The only person that _should_ hate him more would be Prince Harry, and he was a strange one--talking about wants and needs, cracked where he should be broken.

“You’re still here. Why?” Ginevra barked.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t spoken to like that in years. If he were anywhere else, he would torture her. He had not taken a vow to protect any of these people but the prince but, he’d prefer not to have the boy mistrust him more than he naturally did.

“How do you mean?” Voldemort asked.

“You taught Harry for the day. You can go back to your castle now, _my Lord_ ,” she said, mockingly. Voldemort hummed.

“You hate me,” he drawled. “Why?”

Ginevra looked at him with skepticism. Voldemort frowned at her disbelief, patiently waiting for her answer. Ginevra didn’t say anything immediately, gathering her wits at the sudden inquiry.

“Do you remember anyone that you’ve killed? Everyone that you’ve sentenced to die?”

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed. “Only the important ones,” he said.

Ginevra’s nostrils flared and she turned white underneath her freckles.

“When I was a girl, you sent your Death Eaters on a raid to a village called Ottery St. Catchpole. That raid was led by Antonin Dolohov and Torquil Travers. My parents were part of the Order, you know. We were in the process of moving to this camp, when it was just a fledgling of tents. Your Death Eaters found out. I was the last one at the house. With my brother and my parents. They hid me and Ron. Ron crawled up the fireplace. They put me in a barrel, buried in grains. Travers murdered my father first,” Ginevra said, her gaze out of focus. Her brow furrowed. “Then, they tortured my mother. She gave them a fight but, they ultimately killed her.”

“She sounds like quite the witch,” Voldemort said.

Ginevra’s eyes came back into focus. “She _was._ My story isn’t done.”

“Well, then. What next?” Voldemort hissed.

“They heard me scream. I screamed when I heard my mother scream, so they pulled me out of the barrel. Dolohov noticed that I was pretty. Said that blood traitors were good for one thing. Blood traitors and bastards. I’m a bastard,” Ginevra said, with a cocked eyebrow. “My grandfather. Lord of House Prewett. He didn’t give my mother permission to marry my father. My father had no name, no lands, no money. He wasn’t worthy of a lady of House Prewett. So, it wasn’t recognized. So, blood traitors _and_ a bastard. Good for one thing, he said. So, he threw me on the kitchen table and he pried my legs open and he _raped_ me while Travers watched.”

Voldemort stared at her for a long moment. Ginevra stared back at him, daring him to pity her. Daring him to apologize. Voldemort would not. Instead, he smiled, and Ginevra seemed to relax even more.

“And your brother stayed in the fireplace?” Voldemort asked.

Ginevra nodded once. “And my brother stayed in the fireplace,” she confirmed. She leaned forward, sneering. “I will kill Dolohov and Travers, Lord Voldemort. Just because you don’t remember all the deaths you caused, doesn’t mean _I_ don’t.”

Voldemort stared at this bitter mess of a girl. She was only a girl. Just like Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley were just boys. Boys with swords. Boys and girls fashioned into soldiers. It reminded him uncomfortably of his father. Voldemort paused. He had not thought of his father in a long time.

“I remember one,” Voldemort said. He paused. He wasn’t sure why he had said that. “I remember Helena’s. Every breath of it.”

He could still see those, pale eyes, so loving and generous. They had damned him anyway. He could remember the blood sliding down her neck, to the valley between her budding breasts. She hadn't even been a woman. Still a girl. Just like this one. Just like this _girl._

“Was it worth it?” Ginevra asked.

Voldemort hummed, pushing the memories away.

_What...is it that you need from me, Tom_?

Her question had haunted him. In his weakness, Voldemort had given her an answer.

“I built an empire on her blood. Of course, it was worth it, Ginevra Weasley.”

_Then it is yours._

* * *

 

**IS FAIREST**

* * *

 

He couldn’t sleep. Harry had never had a hard time sleeping until he had invited the Dark Lord into his bed. Now, sleeping felt like a foreign possibility. Midnight was fast approaching and he would have to wake early the next morn. His mind was exhausted and his body ached. Between Ron and Voldemort’s rigorous training, he was drained. Ron had wanted to teach him how to duel on horseback and Voldemort had sparred with him, using both wands and blades, teaching him curses and jinxes.

That had all been before dinner. During dinner, while everyone gathered around the fires outside, Voldemort had lectured him about the histories of the countries that made up the Albion Empire. He had given a brief overview of the Tabooed’s conquering of the lands that had belonged to Merlin.  The lecture had ended abruptly as he approached the time when the Founders had come.

“Albion,” Harry whispered into the darkness. “Albion is glory. I am King...King of the South. The South is Karnaron. Karnaron was Medraut. Karnaron is me. I am King. King of the North. North is Gamalaot. Gamalaot was Ambrose. Gamalaot is me. I am King. King of the East. East is Essetir. Essetir was Orcate. Essetir is me. I am King. King of the West. West is Afallon. West was Morgin. Afallon is me. I _am_ Albion. I am glory.”

“You are King.”

Harry sat up, abruptly, even as his body screamed in protest. Dark red eyes stared at him with too-complicated emotions. Harry frowned. Voldemort didn’t stay late. And he _certainly_ didn’t come into Harry’s room. Not after the night that they had fucked.

“I am King,” Harry agreed, his voice cracking with exhaustion.

He barely noticed as Voldemort tugged off his boots and walked towards the bed. The man kneeled on the edge of the bed and brought his fingers across Harry’s cheeks. Harry frowned when he felt his cheeks were wet. He’d been _crying_. Somehow, he didn’t feel humiliated by the fact that Voldemort had been watching.

“Your beauty is slightly diminished when you cry,” Voldemort murmured. Harry gave a watery laugh as he buried his face in his pillow.

“Only slightly?” Harry retorted.

“You could _never_ be ugly, Harry Potter.”

The raw honesty in his voice made Harry jerk back. He stared at him, feeling trapped.

“If I asked you to fuck me, would you?” Harry asked.

Voldemort lifted the blanket and slid in behind Harry. Harry flinched as Voldemort slid his arm around his waist and tugged him back, his back pressed a firm and familiar chest. He looked over his shoulder, prepared to curse at the Dark Lord. He didn’t.

“Are you asking me to fuck you?” Voldemort breathed in his ear.

Harry frowned. “Would you?”

“No.”

Harry turned in the man’s arms, his nostrils flared. “Do you not fuck the same person twice, Lord Voldemort?”

“Tom.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed in confusion as he heard the unfamiliar name. Voldemort tilted his head as Harry tried to dissect the man, tried to stare into his soul.

“What?” Harry asked.

"My name is Tom Marvolo Slytherin," Voldemort said. "I've been called Voldemort for seventeen years and I've forbidden the name from being spoken. There is a taboo on it. I think everyone but my sisters has...forgotten."

Harry thought about that for a long moment before he turned again, staring at the wall. Voldemort—Tom, now,—pressed his forehead against the nape of Harry’s neck and they wallowed in their shared misery for a long moment.

“Tom,” Harry finally repeated.

"I will tell you why I won't fuck you again, Harry Potter," Tom said. Harry could feel his lips moving against the back of his neck. He shivered even with how warm he felt. "I will not participate in the perception that you have of yourself."

“You don’t know me—” Harry started.

“I know you.”

Harry breathed, heavily. He cleared his throat. “What perception do I have of myself?”

“That you aren’t worth your name. That you weren’t just born lucky, you were lucky to be born. That you aren’t worth their respect. That you’re a common whore, just like you let them call you,” Tom said, his voice, soft and thoughtful but unyielding. “But, you are none of those things. You are Harry Wildfyre of Houses Potter and Gryffindor. You were _born_ for this.”

Harry hiccuped and swallowed his cries. He felt like he was shattering. He had never cried so much in his entire life. He felt something burn in him, like he was the cusp of some realized, some actualization that hadn’t been breathed aloud just yet.

“Tom…”

“Shh...sleep…” Tom crooned in his ear. Harry sighed, sinking back into the warm, hard body.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Harry slurred.

Tom hummed, hushing him, gently. “You were _born_ for this.”

* * *

 

**OF**

* * *

 

His eyes flashed open.

Feet were pounding up and down the hallway. Harry was up in seconds, jamming his glasses onto his nose. He grabbed his wand, stumbling into the hallway with it raised. Ginny stopped, wide-eyed, her quiver half over her shoulder, swiftly lacing up her battle leathers.

“What’s going on?” he demanded.

Ginny looked at him, hesitant. “There’s...a raid happening.”

“Where?” Harry demanded, running back into his room, pulling on his boots and stumbling back out, one knee raised as he tried to lace the boots.

“Little Hangleton. It’s right between the tower and Hogsmeade. The Dark Lord has a small castle there. We’ve heard reports and sightings of the King,” Ginny said.

Harry was suddenly far more awake than he had been moments before. King Draco had emerged from Hogwarts Castle. He was _vulnerable_. Harry had only seen Draco during Mortem Phoenix and he’d never paid much attention to him. He needed to be there. He could feel it.

“I need battle robes. And armor. And a sword,” Harry said, running into his room again and pulling the Dark Lord’s knife from beneath his pillow. He stormed down the steps, Ginny hot on his heels, and she seemed nervous.

“I’m not sure if...are you sure you’re ready, Harry?” she asked.

“I’m not _weak_ ,” Harry spat as he slammed the front door open.

He was met with a wall of chaos. There was a group of Order members, shouting, gathering steel, pulling horses from the stables. Ron sat upon a great steed, swinging his battle ax through the air. He was barking at the squad. Tonks stood to the side, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Someone get me a horse!” Harry called.

Tonks spun around, her eyes wide. “Harry!”

“You’re not going anywhere, boy,” Moody barked as he watched the soldiers gather themselves.

Harry felt a flash of rage. He took a step forward, his eyes narrowed dangerously. Moody stared back at him and it was clear neither was backing down.

“ _I_ will fight for my people. And _you_ won’t stop me,” Harry snarled, full of fury. He turned his back on Moody and looked over at Ron. Ron looked lost for a moment.

Tonks took action, spinning around and looking at the assembled soldiers.

“You heard your Prince!” Tonks shouted. “Someone get him a horse. Battle robes. Armor. A sword. And a Portkey!”

The soldiers spun into action and Tonks rushed over, brushing hair from Harry's face. She gave a sad smile, nodding as she cupping his face in her hands. She leaned forward, brushing a kiss against his cheek.

“You follow Ron. Don’t try to confront the Usurper yourself,” Tonks said. “Don’t be reckless.”

Harry snorted. “I’m not--”

“ _Don’t_ lie," Ginny said, shortly interrupting him. Harry looked at her, affronted. "I've known you for only a few weeks and I know how reckless you are. You go off on your own, leaving the camp wards. You gallivant off to make deals with Dark Lords without any advisors. You're reckless. I'll watch him, Tonks. Can't let the one and true king die on us."

Harry snorted. He looked over his shoulder at Moody. The man’s sour expression said it all as he muttered to Fendwick and McGonagall. McGonagall looked worried but, not like she’d back Moody’s decision to make Harry stay. If there was one person that Harry _would_ listen to, it was McGonagall.

“The Dark Lord...do you think he’ll be there?” Harry asked, his voice soft.

Tonks shook her head. “Uncle wouldn’t. He’s loyal to you. He swore the Vow.”

“ _Uncle_?” Ginny asked, eyes wide.

“Later, please,” Tonks pleaded. She took a step back as McGonagall sent her a look. “Merlin, I think I’m needed. Don’t think I’ll be riding out with you all.”

“We won’t need it. This will be rough but, we need someone to defend. Come, Harry. A horse for you,” Ginny said, dragging Harry to the saddled horse that Hagrid had brought out from the stables. Ginny reached out, grabbing the borrowed battle robes from one of her brothers.

The horse was beautiful. A stunning white stallion that looked unfit for battle. A horse that looked like it deserved to be free. Still, he walked up to Harry and butted his head against Harry’s shoulder. Harry laughed, patting the long head, nuzzling the smooth neck. Hagrid grinned.

“‘E likes you then. That’s good. You need help getting up on ‘im, Harry?” Hagrid asked as Ginny helped him into his battle robes.

Harry shrugged them on, buttoning them swiftly and took the offered sword. He ignored Hagrid’s large hand and mounted the horse. Ginny looked up at him in awe. He looked otherworldly, beautiful in his battle robes and armor as he did outside of them.

“Ron! What’s the plan?” Harry called as he rode up to Ron’s side.

Ron looked doubtful, as if he expected Harry to take over the minute he had demanded to be on the run. Harry looked at him, expectantly, and slowly, Ron straightened, proud. He looked around the group of soldiers, his broad chest puffed out.

"Kingsley and his task force have already gone to Little Hangleton to assess the damage. After doing so, he has sent us a Patronus requesting our presence. Our squad today is a mix of Muggles and wizarding-kind. We have each other's backs. Our goal: reduce property damage as much as we can, and make a dent in the King's personal guard," Ron declared.

The group nodded in agreement, even Emmeline Vance, who didn’t look too pleased to be taking orders from someone younger than her.

“And the King?” Marlene McKinnon asked, strangely serious.

Harry perked up. Coldly, he said, “Do not engage the Usurper in battle. Leave him to _me._ ”

* * *

 

**THEM**

* * *

 

The fire was raging and the screams were plentiful.

They tried to run. They always tried to run. He imagined that this was what his uncle felt when he was young and went on raids--powerful and alive. Draco had not felt so alive, so powerful, in such a long while.

Draco felt alive when he was fucking, when there was blood, when he made music, and when magic knocked.

Magic had knocked while he fucked into that poor Muggle whore in his uncle's bed, her breasts splattered in blood and cum. Her cries had been like the sound of a lute or a song, the songs that he enjoyed as a child. The ballads and songs about war and knights and kings. All of his favorite things. He had slit her throat and eaten his dinner, and had called Blaise while his cock was still hanging bare between his legs. Magic had knocked and told him to rage against the dying of the light. So, he _raged,_ ravaging the town that his uncle had such dripping sentiment for.

His uncle would see _him_.

Now, he hunted.

The Order members charged past him, on horseback, chasing his Aurors.

Blaise was snarling, battling fiercely with a broad-shouldered redheaded man, spells volleying back and forth, steel clashing against steel. The battle felt staged, the light from the fire beating down on them, like fairy spotlights, the echoes of swords clanging choreographed. Draco grinned. He _lived_.

“Having fun, yet, your Grace?” Blaise grunted.

Draco laughed, spinning and throwing a knife into the back of a running Muggle. The knife was connected to a long chain, wrapped around his wrist. Draco pulled, ripping the knife out jaggedly. The Muggle crumpled, squirming with adrenaline.

“ _Yes!_ ” he breathed.

He spun around, when he heard a fearsome battle cry. A woman, with two bright red braids flagging behind him, rode past him, kneeling on the back of her horse. She didn't notice him. He watched as the redhead nocked and arrow and let it fly. It sailed forward, and Draco raised his wand, slowing the arrow down before it touched Blaise. The woman spun on her horse backward, her lips curled into a snarl.

“ _AVADA--_ ” Draco hissed.

“Not my sister, asshole!”

Draco swung around, pulling his sword just in time to block the downswing of a battle-ax. Draco felt a flash of fear swell in his stomach for just a moment. A voice that sounded like a cross between his mother and uncle’s shouted at him. _You are a Slytherin_. _You are Fear._ Draco grinned, maliciously.

He swung up and then it was a fast paced battle, ax coming down on his sword again and again. Draco laughed as the man worked himself into a fury, growing sloppy with his swings. Draco pulled his wand and leveled.

“ _Sectumsempra_ ,” Draco hissed.

The man cried out as the spell caught him in the arm he held his ax with. The Order soldier crumpled to his knees. His arm fell limp, the leathers ripping to shreds. Magical battle robes, Draco noticed. It wouldn't tear his arm off but, it'd rip it to ribbons. He could already see the blood seeping through. Draco laughed and raised his wand, racking his brain for more curses.

“I believe I’ll be your opponent tonight, Draco Malfoy.”

The voice was soft, captivating. The flames seemed to move the intonation, the dips and slides in the person’s words. Draco slowly turned as the fires parted and he saw the most beautiful person that he’d ever seen in his life.

His skin was so fair that he had to have been crafted out of porcelain. His hair was black, blacker than the night. His lips reminded Draco of war. Of blood. Draco had always loved color of blood. The color red. Red reminded him of power. Of pain and agony and the blood and sweat that it took to wrench power into one's grasp. Draco took a staggering step towards the boy, ready to fall to his knees and worship.

“Your...Highness…” the redhead gasped, clinging to his arm.

Blaise staggered to Draco’s side, grabbing him by his shoulder. Draco relaxed against his closest advisor. Neither looked away from this boy. This boy that seemed to breathe as the fires did.

“Who are you?” Blaise whispered, his Gaulish accent thicker than usual.

“I am Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter. I am the Fairest of them All,” the boy said.

Draco’s eyes narrowed. The _Pretender._

“Have you come to meet your death, Pretender?” Draco snarled. “Prince of Gryffindor.”

The boy smiled. “You may call me your executioner, your Grace.”

And with those words, the Pretender snarled and launched himself forward. Blaise made a step forward and Draco prepared to run but, Blaise was suddenly caught up battling a large black man in dark robes with Crabbe and Goyle at his side. Draco spun back around, swallowing his terror. He _wasn’t_ a coward.

Steel braced against steel and they were moving. Draco knew how to sword fight. He had been raised under the great swordsman Severus Snape. Severus' style was fluid, like a dancer. He'd always said that Draco possessed a certain grace to him that was natural, like his mother's, like his father's. The Fairest had a sort of grace too but, it didn't fit his lithe body.

The Pretender was brutal, using brute force with every blow, more strength than seemed possible in him. His lips were twisted into a snarl, and he never pulled a blow, ducking and swinging under Draco’s slashes and thrusts as if he had been raised with a sword in hand. If Draco was a snake, the Pretender was a lion, his lips pried back to show his teeth.

Draco pulled his wand. “ _Reducto_ ,” he snarled.

“ _Protego!_ ”

It was a volleying of spells and curses, the air electric with magic. Draco hissed as everyone one of his curses was dodged, the boy Summoning debris to cover him, swerving under bright jets of purple and orange and red. He was good, too good. His face looked beautiful in the flame light, sweat pouring down his face. Draco wondered what he would look like with blood smeared across his lips. What was redder: blood or the Pretender's lips?

“ _Scindo Cor!_ ” Draco hissed, shooting off the Heart-Fragmenting Curse.

Instead of throwing up another Shield Charm, the Pretender bent backward, allowing the terrible curse to sail over him, crashing into a running Muggle who shrieked in terror. The Pretender spun around, raising his wand, as if to help but, Draco snarled.

“ _AVADA KEDAVRA!_ ”

The Pretender spun back around, pretty, pretty green eyes wide. And then, a man dove in front of him, taking the curse in the chest. The Order member crumpled, like a marionette whose strings had been cut. The Pretender let out a cry, taking a step back.

“S-Sturgis,” the Pretender stuttered.

Draco grimaced, raising his wand again.

“HARRY!” the redhead woman shrieked. She was on her horse backward, taking aim at Draco. “HARRY! FIGHT!”

She let the arrow fly and Draco ducked, letting the iron-tipped arrow fly over his head. He groaned; it had been inches from his eye. When he straightened again, Draco was cowed by the rage on the Pretender’s face.

His sword was at his feet, across the dead Order member's chest. The air was sweltering. The flames moved with the Pretender's heavy breathing, dying and rising over and over again. Blaise suddenly screamed and Draco whirled around, watching as his closest advisor dropped his sword and scurried back. His sword hand was blistering and bubbling, his face twisted in agony. All of his men were dropping their iron weapons and Draco dropped his sword too when he felt it grow so hot that he felt like he was trapped in a furnace.

“You killed him,” the Pretender breathed.

Draco’s hold on his wand tightened and the King watched in terror as the Pretender dragged his fingers through the air, and all the flames flickered, stilling in the air. Even the smoke stopped. Draco watched as the fire seemed to stream into the air, twisting and morphing. This was _Fiendfyre_. No one could control Fiendfyre but, the caster.

The Pretender smiled.

“ _Füir_.”

The fire imploded and Draco threw up his wand, casting a Shield Charm. He watched as the flames exploded past him and the Pretender stalked through the flames, the fire clinging to him like a lover. Draco glanced at him. Only charred bones remained of some of his guards. Draco shrieked in rage, and that seemed to bring back the Pretender.

The Pretender looked around, the world engulfed in his fire. He took in the slaughtered men and women, Aurors and Order members and villagers alike. The grass was slick with blood and broken bodies. Draco stepped forward, a charred bone cracking beneath his foot. The Pretender flinched at the sound.

“Have you never killed before?” Draco asked, his voice cold. “Have you never slid a knife through skin and muscle? It’s surprisingly easy. Like cutting into butter.”

He smiled. The Pretender’s eyes narrowed.

“Do you like the fire, Draco Slytherin?” the Pretender asked.

Draco laughed, a wild sound, and he whooped, spinning around. His face was dotted with blood and ash and the smoke in his lungs felt like _living_.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he laughed.

“Men like you would want to see the world burned.”

Draco raised his wand, pinching his lips together. Still, chuckles bubbled out.

“You’re the one that uses fire. You’re the one who burned everyone,” Draco taunted. “Can’t you take it? Don’t you _love_ it?”

The Pretender didn’t seem to hear him. There was an oddly cold look in his eye. Draco glanced over his shoulder, nodding at Goyle. Goyle crept forward, his sword raised.

“You shall get your wish, Usurper,” the Pretender promised. “ _I_ will burn your world to ashes. And _then_ , you have my permission to die.”

And then, the Pretender turned on his heel and slammed his sword straight into Goyle's chest with all the strength his lithe body could muster. Goyle cried out, his body arching as the blade split his spine, sticking straight out of his back. The Pretender brought his foot up and wrenched his bloody sword out of Goyle's body, covered in spinal fluid and blood. The Pretender spun around, wild, and he let out an otherworldly shriek.

Draco stumbled back, raising his wand.

“FALL BACK! RETREAT!” the Pretender roared. He stooped down before the fallen Order member that had taken a curse for him and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Under his lips, the body caught on fire and the Pretender casted one last look at the boy king before he disappeared into the flames, the Order disappearing with him.

* * *

 

**ALL?**

* * *

 

He was near the fire. He was practically _in_ the fire. The flames licked at his cheeks, kissed the leather robes. They weren’t fire-resistant so, every few seconds, the leather battle robes caught on fire and he would hiss at them, and the fire would die, leaving scorch marks in its wake. He was striking, even covered in ash and blood.

Tonks wasn’t sure why she had rolled out of bed. She had been commanded to remain, to defend the camp with McGonagall and Fendwick. So, she had done as she was told, and had curled back into bed with Teddy when they hadn’t been back for another hour or so. Tonks had been nearly asleep again when she heard the chatter of soldiers returning. She didn’t hear anything terrible so, she had tried to sleep but, Magic wasn’t silent.

Magic knocked, as her mother always said. And Magic had to be let in.

So, Tonks had risen from the bed, and had brought Teddy to Remus’ room. She had tucked him into Remus’ side as quietly as possible. She refused to wake either of her boys. The full moon was approaching and Remus was already so tired.

Tonks walked towards the fire and sat down on the bench. Harry sat cross-legged, his back to the flames, casting him into shadow. He didn’t seem to notice her at first.

“Harry…”

The boy jumped. He looked at her, wild-eyed.

“I’m fine!” he said, immediately.

Tonks looked into his eyes. Those beautiful green eyes. That had been the first thing that she had noticed about him. They were so full of childish innocence. That was gone now. This was no boy.

The boy was dead.

“No...you’re not,” Tonks whispered.

Harry laughed.

Her heart cracked wide at the sound. The dead had been collected. She looked around. Their people seemed strong in numbers, though she saw some faces were missing. Sturgis wasn’t there, by the armory as he always was. Well, then.

“I really am fine...they told me to go to sleep. That I had done well in battle. _Moody_ said it. He was sounded surprised. But, I can’t...I’m not tired, you see,” Harry said, his voice soft. “I’m terrified...I feel that something _horrible_ is going to happen.”

Tonks reached forward, ignoring the terrible heat on her hand as she touched his shoulder. He was burning up. He was far hotter than any normal person should be. Her hands would blister and burn. But, she could go to Pomfrey for that. Harry's well-being was far more important than her hands. Hands healed. Harry must heal too.

"It's called hyper vigilance. Not the shit that Moody talks about. Just, it's this persistent feeling of being under threat. I feel it too. All the time, actually," Tonks murmured.

Those green eyes stared into her. The young man stared at her like he read all the sins of her soul. Harry had always been strange. A strange wizard. A strange prince. A strange boy. Now, he was a strange man. A sweet, kind, and brave man but, strange, nonetheless. She wouldn’t be surprised if he could see her soul. She wanted to hold him, singing to him until he fell asleep, like he was Teddy.

But, she couldn’t. Harry was not a child. He was a prince. A prince with blood on his hands.

A warrior king.

“It’s like I can’t _breathe_ …” Harry whispered, his voice breaking.

“Like you’re drowning?”

Harry looked up, his eyes sharp. He was examining her, searching for her sincerity. Tonks ached. His life before must have been  hell. She remembered the words that he had spoken to Moody. Slut. Whore. Freak. Monster. People had been jealous. People were still jealous. People still said terrible things about him. And still, he fought for them. A sweet, kind, brave man.

A _good_ man.

“Yeah,” Harry muttered.

Tonks nodded, sagely. She remembered being drowned. The woman that had pushed her into the water and then pulled her up, as if birthing her. That woman had not been her mother.

“So...if you’re drowning and you’re trying to keep your mouth closed until that very last moment, what if you choose not to open your mouth? To not let the water in?”

Harry snorted.

“I know by experience that you do. It’s a reflex.”

Tonks decided not to even touch that. _Experience_. Monster. Everyone else was the fucking _monster_. Tonks seethed but, she swallowed her rage.

“But, if you hold off, until that reflex kicks in, you have more time. Correct?” Tonks asked.

Harry shrugged. He slapped at his shoulder. It had caught fire again. “Not much time.”

“But, more time to fight your way to the surface?” Tonks insisted, testing him.

Harry looked at her, stiffening. “What are you doing, Tonks?”

Tonks allowed her face to harden.

“Here is your second lesson in _power_ , my dear friend,” Tonks said, sharply and Harry stiffened, looking at her with wide eyes.

“Well, it hurts. There’s more time, sure. More time to be in agony. In darkness,” Harry hissed.

Tonks ached to touch him. She would not. She _wouldn’t_ give in.

“You are the Fire. The _Light_ ,” she spat, angrily. “You call holy fire. The creatures have a name for you. There is no darkness where you are concerned. And if it’s survival, _agony_ is worth it.”

Tonks stared past Harry. She thought she saw crimson eyes. But, she couldn't be sure. Voldemort would've comforted Harry himself, if he were here, she expected. She knew that he was Kingmaker. He would've taken this as a formative moment. But, now, it was up to Tonks. Perhaps, it wasn't him. After all, Magic had knocked on _her_ door.

“And if it gets worse, Tonks? Because it _will_ get worse. Just agony now and more hell later on,” Harry snarled.

And then, he paused. Tonks allowed her facade to melt away. Her hair was a light brown, curly, like Andromeda’s. Her eyes were so dark a blue that they could be violet in some lights. She was truly a Slytherin. It only just occurred to him.

“Then, if you’re already suffered, why not suffer more? Here’s the lesson: if you’re going through _hell_ , keep going.”

_Kill the boy, Harry Potter, and let the man live._

The fire _burned_.

And deep in a hall of marble, in the offered hands of a saint, a stone cracked.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have only the interlude for the next part to post before ARC ONE is finished. I wanted to know what you all thought of ending this story here and putting it in a series, so it's easy to digest. This is already super long as is and I don't want to make it too long, if you know what I mean.
> 
> So, just give me your thoughts on that! Thanks!


	14. Interlude

It was raining.

It never rained in the camp.

Never.

It was the wards. McGonagall, Moody, and Albus Dumbledore--when he had been around, still--had carefully modeled the wards after the wards surrounding Hogwarts. It rained over their gardens but, otherwise, they were in an eternal summer. Winter was coming but, the camp never had to worry about it. Never had to worry about sleet or snow or hail.

Except, it was raining.

It was storming so hard, the rain and the winds battered the tents. The gardens had been reduced to mud, though they had saved as much as they could. The paths were mud and sand, running through the camp. The world was gray.

Tonks thought that the world would've been better iced over than the terrible gray that sucked the happiness from her being. It was like being on Azkaban, surrounded by dementors. Tonks had only been on Azkaban Island once, and that was enough for her. Still, it rained.

They were mourning.

Sturgis Podmore was dead. Others were dead. They had all burned, their ashes mingling in the hollowed out village that had been Little Hangleton.

Still, Tonks was worried. Harry was gone. After their talk, she had pulled him to his room, pulled away his battle robes. He hadn't let her wash the blood or ash from his face. He had gone to bed without another word, and Tonks had promised to see him in the morning. Except, he was gone.

His wand was missing. His cloak and boots. A sword was gone from the armory. She had checked under his pillow. The Dark Lord’s knife was gone too. Only a red phoenix feather on his pillow clued Tonks in to the Prince’s whereabouts.

She knew she should tell someone. McGonagall would want to know. Moody would _definitely_ want to know. It was why Tonks was so hesitant. She squirmed on the edges of the crowd as McGonagall gave her speech. It was a familiar speech that Tonks could recite in her sleep. McGonagall always hit main points--loss of life as a tragedy, the Fire of the Order grows stronger, the Prince’s vengeance. Now, they actually _had_ a Prince to deliver vengeance and he was nowhere to be found.

Tonks felt a large hand fall on her shoulder. She looked up, expecting to see Remus with her sweet Teddy on his hip, but instead, she found dark crimson eyes. She startled, watching her uncle with wary eyes. Tonks didn't know how but, somehow, he knew.

“He’s gone.”

The words had slipped.

She frowned, unsure of why _he_ was the one that she had confessed to. The Dark Lord had no right to be there, amongst the mourning. There was no love lost between the Order and the Dark Lord. Tonks wasn’t sure if he even had the capacity to love or _care_ for anything but, himself.

“He’s gone but, he’ll be back,” Voldemort said, softly.

“I think he’s...at the tower,” Tonks said through clenched teeth.

Voldemort regarded her, a contemplative look on his face. He turned away from his niece, a woman that looked so much like his sister.

She had Andromeda in her. But, there was so much more of Bellatrix. In her eyes and her soft silky hair. Her hair wasn’t near as messy and untamable as Andromeda’s. Tonks was hard like all three of his sisters. Unlike his nephew, she was a _true_ snake.

The Dark Lord continued to walk away, his feet sticking in thick mud as he weaved between the tents, his hair flat around his head from the rain. He didn’t mind the elements. It grounded him in a world that seemed to float away every moment. The long-lived man walked to the very edge of the camp. He ignored his steed, tied a tree, and secured his sword to his waist before Disapparating with a satisfying crack.

The Dark Lord appeared again. This was the third time he had come by the tower. All good things came in threes. The Dark Lord knew he would not come again.

The air tasted like fire and grief, an odd sorrowful taste that threatening to choke him like smoke. He walked through the brambled trees, staring at the open doors of the mausoleum. The Dark Lord paused before the door, taking in the great crumbling structure, his lips pursed.

He could still feel the magic of his father and Rowena, clinging like an old stench, bound to the structure until the end of their days. Helga's and Godric's magic were long gone. They were long dead. Voldemort could remember that day in flashes.

“He’s here,” the Dark Lord murmured to himself.

He could feel more wards. The wards that Dumbledore and Moody and McGonagall had constructed. But, they were nothing now, nearly torn apart by sheer audacious will. That must be the Prince then. The magic that had ripped them apart was heady and smoke-inducing. Yes, the Prince was there, indeed.

Voldemort walked forward, stepping into the shadow of the decrepit tower that had been Lily’s prison for so many years. He wondered if they had cleaned up the mess he had created when he had hunted Lily down and cut her chest open. Did they find her when she still looked like herself or when she had become nothing but bones?

He descended deep into the mausoleum, passing through the marble doors. The walls were lit this time, and Voldemort looked around. The walls were carved lions and phoenixes chasing one another. Ash was smeared across pictures of lions, touching the flames carved into the white marble, as if to mark them for what they wear.

Voldemort traced his fingers over the light smudge marks, in the shape of hands that he had touched, that he had felt on his body. When he hit the bottom, he stared straight ahead.

Lily’s statue stared at him with green eyes of judgment. The oil troughs were lit with pulsing flames, flames that followed a heartbeat that Voldemort had urged to sleep. She still held the stone, cradled in her hand. Her wrist was trapped in an ash-smudged hand. Harry’s hand.

Harry kneeled at the statue's feet like she was an altar to pray at.

"She was a beautiful woman. You have her eyes," Voldemort said. Harry spun around, still on the dirt ground. His tunic and trousers looked ill-fitting for the chill, his only reprieve a thin cloak. His face was smudged with ash, his cheeks dotted with blood. "And her smile. She hated it in this tower. She hated what it stood for and when I came for her, she welcomed death."

Harry turned and brushed his fingers across the bare feet. That was close to Voldemort’s memory. He couldn’t remember a time when Lily had voluntarily worn shoes while she ran amuck Hogwarts Castle.

“Now, I find my assumptions untrue,” Voldemort continued.

Harry hummed, looking up with bright green eyes. They were too bright. Fever bright. He hadn’t slept. There was something else missing. A spot of innocence, that he had retained even after Voldemort thought he had fucked all the innocence out of him.

“What then, Tom?” he asked, voice cold and brittle. So unlike the fire that breathed with him, growing higher with every passing moment, towering over the two of them.

Voldemort stared at the statue of her. He could still almost smell her. Smoke, but never ash. Never of destruction. She had always smelled like energy...life. He moved forward until he was only a foot away from Harry, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

“She was protecting you. The sooner that she died, the sooner I would leave, thinking that my task was complete,” Voldemort murmured, softly.

Harry slowly stood, trembling with fury. Voldemort tilted his head. This was wholly Harry. Voldemort couldn’t remember what Lily had looked like when he had killed her. He could never remember the details of his kills. Not even the most important ones. Not like Helena.

Never like Helena.

Voldemort thought that if he decided to kill Harry, he’d remember every moment, seared to his brain, his spinal core, his marrow. And then, he would die as well.

Neither man spoke nor moved. They simply stared into each other’s eyes, attempting to read each other. Another beat pass and then Harry broke.

“You...you caused all of this. _You_ did this,” Harry whispered, brokenly, and then suddenly, he snapped.

He shoved at Voldemort’s chest, violently, finally losing control, just as Voldemort knew he would. Voldemort stumbled back from the force. He blinked, owlishly at Harry and said nothing. Harry didn’t seem to notice. He only punched the man’s broad chest in a fire-filled rage, ignoring how his knuckles ached every time he made contact with the hard muscle.

“You... _you_...you did this to me! You killed my mother! Made me live with the Dursleys, in that _horrible_ village! It was my fault. I killed someone...I _killed_ someone!” Harry shouted, his voice breaking and when Voldemort tried to reach for him, the flames exploded.

_Kill the boy, Harry Potter, and let the man live._

Voldemort threw himself back, throwing up a Shield Charm in an instant. He watched as the fire whirled violently around the small space, and even through the flames, he could see the statue of Lily and her judgmental green jewel eyes. And then, he heard a shrieking. It was Harry and Voldemort’s eyes widened as the shrieking grew in number.

The flames parted and Harry stood before the statue of his mother, his hand pressed against the stone that sat in the statue’s hand. There was a large crack that ran down the center, and Voldemort knew then that the stone that Pandora had given her daughter for him was no stone.

He remembered the stories.

The Founders had slain them all when they discovered the damage Morgin had wrought across Afallon with them. Eggs had been crushed, scales stripped away to create clothing. Claws used for potions. Teeth used for battle. Calcified hearts used for wand cores. Bones used for anything else.

Harry was hypnotized and the stone egg cracked and rippled beneath his hand and the flames lifted his shirt, kissing ash and fire to his clothes, burning away the cloak. Voldemort’s lips parted and he watched as the egg opened and a tiny reptilian head reared out, shrieking its tiny sound, soft horns adorning its head like a crown.

A _dragon_.

“What are you?” Harry whispered as he broke the egg open, having forgotten all about Voldemort. He held his hands in offering and the small dragonet, large enough that Harry had to cradle it with two hands and still, it nearly slithered off of him.

“You...your fire brought life to a petrified dragon egg,” Voldemort breathed.

Harry spun around, eyes wide with terror. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t...it wasn’t here before,” Harry rasped, casting glances down on the dragonet as it slithered up his arm, shrieking and cooing in his ear.

“I _know_ ,” Voldemort hissed, irritated. The dragonet turned its head sharply, letting out a shriek of irritation. Voldemort hummed. “Come here. Slowly.”

Harry took a step forward, fire clinging to him like it had nowhere else to go. Voldemort took a step forward, ignoring the hissing, spitting dragonet perched on Harry’s shoulder. Slowly, he reached forward, taking Harry’s face between his hands, tilting it up. He rubbed his thumb across one ash covered cheek, scraping at a spot of dry blood with his fingernail.

“What have you done to me? What am I going to become?” Harry whispered.

Voldemort could taste his terror. This was not a boy anymore. This was a man. A man that had taken lives. A man that had tasted battle and was afraid to love it. A man that had raised a creature from extinction. A man that could be very terrifying indeed.

“I’ve done nothing that you haven’t asked of me. But...my King, one question rings louder than the others. What would you _like_ to become, creature of fire?”

Harry was staring at him with strangely tearless eyes as if the fire had burned it all away. His clothing was scorched, large bits of it totally burned away, revealing pale, unblemished skin that Voldemort wanted to ruin. He turned his face to look at the dragonet, rubbing its face against his neck.

“Unafraid,” Harry answered, immediately.

Voldemort’s lips twitched into a smile. “Why are you afraid?”

“I know what you meant about power,” Harry said but, he didn’t elaborate. “They died. For me. Because of me. And I relished in watching them _burn._ ”

The dragonet shrieked at the word as if it recognized the flames.

“You aren’t wrong.”

Harry frowned. “What?”

“You must learn that the entire world is your enemy and they _will_ kill you. Unless you kill them _first_. Unless you take from them first. After all, what has been taken cannot be returned,” Voldemort said, breathing laughter at the absurdity of it all.

This beacon of power, the source of life, had birthed a creator of fire from his flames. This was the side that he had aligned himself within the damned war.

“Then...what shall I do?” Harry whispered.

Voldemort’s crimson eyes widened in delight and he grabbed Harry by his waist, jerking them close until their lips were only breaths apart. They stared at each other, breathing the others air, fire beating down on them, sweat beading on Voldemort’s forehead. The dragonet shrieked again in their ears, cooing.

And  Voldemort saw then, the future of the Vow he had made. A Kingmaker and his King. Survival of the empire. The endurance of the reign. _Forever._

“My sweet prince...you shall give this _wretched_ world the _King_ it deserves.”

[END OF PART ONE]

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here is the promised end of PART ONE. I will probably post the next epigraph as warning that PART TWO is coming. I am going back to school soon, within a week. So, I can't promise to start posting PART TWO before I'm fully moved in but, I can promise that when I settle at school, I'll establish a regular update schedule. It'll probably be every Thursday, depending on how my job and clubs work out. But, yeah. Look out for that!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! I really enjoy comments, especially with the massive gamechanger that just happened. Anyway, this is where I veer away from a lot of the Game of Thrones stuff I originally got a lot of inspiration from and the fairytales come into play. Next ARC we'll be meeting the Crouches, the Longbottoms, a Greengrass or two, and the beginnings of war will really happen as I consider the last battle I wrote as the real beginning of the war where the two figureheads clashes.
> 
> Well, see you next time. Please review! Lemme know what you think!


	15. Author's Note

Hello, world!

 

This is your Author.

 

Just wanted to let you all know that Cinders, Part 2 of the Fairest Saga is now up. I'll delete this chapter in a few weeks.


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